


Kokō wo Shinogu

by AcquaSole



Series: Underbelly [1]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Classism, Crimes & Criminals, Media Sensationalism, Multi, Mystery, Organized Crime, Partners to Lovers, Police Procedural, Racism, Relationship Issues, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/pseuds/AcquaSole
Summary: Ugliness lurks under the image of peace and modernity Japan tries hard to maintain. For officers Miroku Ishida and Sango Tachibana, the system they work to uphold might soon be torn apart by the case of a man with a troubled past...and who may or may not have had something to do with the disappearance of his wife.





	1. Start the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be spending more time updating my Fire Emblem fics and DMMD, I really do. But goddamn, this idea would not let me alone. It hounded me everywhere and anywhere, to the point that, after even dreaming about it, I decided to just do something about it already and get it out of my head.
> 
> Many thanks to Sassybratt, whose tireless and precise editing, suggestions, and far superior knowledge of the English language helped shape this into a recognisable form and gave it legs to stand on.

 

 

 

" _How terrible…"_

Behind the glittering Tokyo façade lay backstreets hiding shabby neighbourhoods housing the lower-income families. Populated by small, grey apartments that towered three stories tall at most, the apartment complexes shared a narrow street with a canopy of telephone and electrical wires crisscrossing over the roadway. Several exhausted mopeds leaned against the sides of a few buildings, accompanied by trash bags left haphazardly in the street.

" _Do you know who lives there?"_

Posters advertising day-to-day services were plastered on telephone poles and concrete walls, but even among the run-down buildings, a few loving touches still remained; a potted flower perched precariously on the sill of an open window, and childishly-decorated wind chimes hung under the eaves, tinkling cheerfully whenever a breeze passed by.

" _Wasn't it a couple?"_

However, even in the poorer parts of town, the collection of anxious neighbors and police cars parked outside of a tiny, yellow apartment building was an unfamiliar sight. The officers, dressed in crisp, dark blue uniforms, stood guard by forming a loose chain around the apartment, doing their best to calm the murmurs of the crowd and keep them at bay.

" _I hope no one was hurt!"_

Two grade-school kids on their bikes slowed down to a stop and watched the scene from the safety of a streetlamp. Even people from neighbouring units—a pair of eyes peeking out from behind the curtains in the building across the street; a shopkeeper cautiously poking his head out of his store—were drawn to a scene so contrary to the street's usual peace.

"It was  _awful,_ " an elderly woman said tearfully to a grizzled old officer who jotted down notes with a busted old pen that rattled with each movement. "The noise was so loud it woke me and my grandson. And then there was this terrible silence after."

"Could you describe the duration of the disturbance?" he asked gruffly.

"I...I can't recall much...maybe five, ten minutes."

"Why didn't you call us sooner?" he scolded, glaring down at her judgmentally.

The grandmother froze. Shame coloured her cheeks, and she began to wring her hands nervously. "Well...I…"

Just then, another squad car pulled up, interrupting the line of questioning. A man emerged from the passenger's side and pulled on his blue vest, rolling up the long, baggy sleeves of his shirt to just past his elbows.. The interrogating officer cursed under his breath, recognizing the detective with short, dark hair tied into a small tail, and unusual gold hoops dangling from each earlobe that garnered surprised gasps from some of the older women present. He carried himself with an easy confidence that deepened the policeman's scowl as he watched the newcomer walk over to them.

"Are you here for the local fair, or to do your job, Miroku?" the older man growled bluntly.

"No need to get upset, Hata-san," Miroku airily waved his colleague off. "It  _is_  my first assignment with this precinct, after all."

"Then act like it," Hata shot back.

Miroku ignored him and instead addressed the old woman. "What happened here, ma'am?" His voice wrapped around her like fine silk—delicately pleasing and soothing to touch.

The woman blushed the tiniest bit at that. "Oh, I just said to the officer here—I was taking a nap with my grandson, and we were woken up by the most horrible noise coming from the neighbours' unit."

He knitted his brows with concern, but nodded encouragingly. "Could you describe the noise?"

"Yes, an awful lot of screaming, and crashing, and things being thrown. I called the nearest kōban as soon as it ended."

"I'm afraid that I'll have to retake my colleague's original question here," Miroku smiled apologetically. Hata screwed his face into a sour expression. "But why not call during the incident? Did something prevent you from doing so?"

She slide her eyes away guiltily. "I-I was just so frightened...I stood rooted to the spot and couldn't do anything except try to comfort my grandson when he started crying...I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," Miroku reassured, resting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. "You did the best that you could. And thanks to your call, we were able to arrive on time, madam…?"

"Taniguchi. We're the second unit on the second floor. The noise came from the fourth unit."

"Would it be possible for me to ask your grandson a few questions? Nothing too hard, I promise. Just enough to try and get a clearer picture of the situation."

"Oh, yes, of course...I-I'll go get him for you."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Taniguchi-san." Miroku beamed encouragingly as she retreated to fetch the boy. The smile then twisted into a light smirk as Miroku turned to face Hata. "You see, Hata-san? You'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

A well-placed police baton that brained him on the back of the head promptly wiped the smug look off his face.

"Showing off on the job again, Ishida-san?"

Rather than getting upset, or even looking hurt, Miroku was positively delighted to see his stern, no-nonsense superior. "Sango-san!" he exclaimed rapturously. "Seeing your lovely face here brings me such joy—"

"That's Tachibana-san to you," Sango corrected swiftly. Though he overtook her by several centimetres, she exuded such an air of seriousness that her rank was apparent at first glance. "And you should act more professional! Showboating while you're on a case…not only does that make  _you_  look bad, it makes us all look  _worse_  by association."

Miroku placed a hand on his chest. "I meant no harm in it," he sighed with a dash of dramatism. "I'm just trying to say that Hata-san really ought to work on being a bit friendlier in his interrogations."

"Piss off," Hata grumbled under his breath.

" _Anyways_ ," Miroku raised his voice with a conspicuous side glance to Hata, "what brings you here? Not that I'm complaining, but it seems a bit odd for you to come down for small disturbances like this."

"I'm afraid it might not be small, really," Sango lamented. "We got a call from Mori-san. I don't have all the details, but from what I gather, it sounds serious."

"Speak of the devil," Hata remarked as a freckled-face officer quickly jogged over to them.

Mori held himself up on his knees to catch his breath before speaking. "Glad to see you here, Inspector," he addressed Sango. "I already called forensics. They should be here any second now. We'll need the plastic boots and gloves to process the scene."

Sango's face betrayed only the slightest amount of apprehension as she nodded in understanding. The situation sounded worse with every new piece of information. "Thank you, Mori-san. I hope the scene hasn't been contaminated, at least."

Hata shook his head. "It's been secure so far. Taniguchi-san confirmed that no one's tried to enter the unit."

"You sure?"

"Positive, Sango-chan."

Miroku raised his eyebrow at the endearment, but wisely kept his mouth shut before Sango decided to make good use of her baton again. Before they knew it, a clearly marked ALFS (Analytic Laboratory of Forensic Science) van wended its way up the narrow street, taking great care to let pedestrians move out of the way before stopping and discharging its human cargo. They all wore face masks, protective white biohazard suits, and started to unload what looked like bright blue plastic toolboxes. The crowd's hushed whispers turned into frenzied murmurs the moment they saw them.

"You all better start suiting up, too," Mori advised. "It's a mess in there."

 

* * *

 

Miroku immediately noticed two things upon entering the apartment: the first being how tiny and cramped it was—they had enough trouble trying to fit two people simultaneously through the genkan—and the second being that the main room of the apartment had been totally trashed.

Miroku and Sango watched quietly as the forensics team moved among the ruins of the apartment, photographing evidence, taking notes, carefully placing numbered markers next to the details of interest. A long, bloody smear on the floor had been taped off; a few handprints trailed alongside it, with one on the wall, another on the cord telephone that hung limply from its base, and a recently dried patch of blood closer to the genkan. The drawers in the kitchenette were all opened, as though someone had been looking for something in a hurry. A ceramic bowl of fruit, a strange sight considering the apparent poverty of the place, now lay in shards behind the kitchen island. A small overturned table had a broken leg. The sliding door to the bedroom had been left open, but aside from the rumpled sheets on the futon, it remained relatively undisturbed. The bathroom and washroom were the only untouched areas, so they were sealed off for the time being.

"Do you think it might have been a robbery?" Miroku whispered.

"Can't say for sure," Sango replied cautiously. "Until we get the owner of the place here, we don't know if something's missing. But robbery or not, someone was seriously hurt."

"Inspector!" an investigator called to Sango, her voice slightly muffled behind her face mask. "You need to take a look at this."

The plastic boots covering Sango's shoes made an odd, crinkling sound as she padded her way to the window. It had been apparent at first glance that the broken glass was another piece of the puzzle—someone had smashed it in order to open the latch on the inside—but stranger still were the flowerpots that now lay shattered on the street below.

"So this was the point of entry," Sango noted.

"The genkan showed no signs of being forced," the investigator confirmed. "But there's also no evidence to suggest that it was used as an exit, either."

"The neighbours would have heard the door being slammed and someone running down the stairs, yes," Sango agreed. "So then the window is also the point of exit."

"Wait, how can you be so certain that the door might have been slammed if used as an exit?" Sango jumped slightly in place when Miroku's voice startled her from behind, grumbling when she saw the investigator trying to stifle a laugh from behind her hand.

Sango sighed, exasperated, and began to explain her line of reasoning. "None of the tenants who've been interviewed so far have stated that they've heard someone in the hallway, which I'm sure you've noticed has quite the acoustics...and that's not even taking into account the thin walls. Besides our entrance, the genkan looks untouched compared to this area, and the flowerpots have a plausible explanation: whoever broke in certainly had enough time to do so, since it's not really something that can be done in a hurry. However, something, or someone, surprised the perpetrator, who was spooked enough that they felt they had to leave fast. Hence, careful entry, hasty exit."

It was hard to argue against it. The evidence pointed to the small, jagged hole in the window that appeared as though it might have been punched out, close enough to the latch to place an arm in, but done in such a way that the damage to the rest of the window was minimal; most likely to reduce the noise the perpetrator would've made by shattering the entire pane.. Miroku spied the glass that lay under the window close to where they were standing.

"Astute as ever," he praised with genuine warmth. "We're lucky to have a mind like yours on the scene, Sango-san."

"Tachibana-san," Sango corrected automatically. She turned her attention to the rest of the forensics team. "How is everyone else doing so far?"

"We're going to start dusting for prints soon," another investigator replied immediately. "And we're also ready to start working on the blood."

Sango bit her lip in apprehension. The blood was undoubtedly the biggest part of the crime...and the biggest indicator of the scene having turned violent. But what kind of struggle happened? Who did the blood belong to? And where had the injured person gone? Until the samples they gathered from the scene could be processed, what exactly happened remained to be seen.

That, and the mystery behind who broke into the apartment in the first place—and why.

"Sango-san," Miroku alerted her, his voice suddenly low and tight. "I hear trouble."

'Trouble' was an understatement. Someone with an impressively loud voice, even with the way the apartment hallway managed to amplify noise, was swearing his way up the stairs, cursing out the officers who were trying to prevent him from entering the restricted area they had established. "Whaddaya mean 'restricted?' It's  _my_  house, dammit, and I deserve to know what the hell happened here. You all better get out of my damn way before I seriously hurt someone!"

As if on cue, the door to the entrance burst open with a loud bang, revealing a dirty, sweaty man, panting hard from having run up the stairs. His shockingly long black hair framed an expression of red-faced anger, and the entire room froze at his sudden appearance.

The stranger's eyes scanned over them critically. "Who the fuck are you all?" he demanded. His words were as sharp as his glare. Then, more apprehensively, "where's Kagome?"

 

 

 


	2. You're off to a Bad Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Back from the void, and hoping that school finishes up soon for the winter so I can devote more time to writing. This next chapter was hard to write, but thanks to the tireless editing of Sassybratt9791, what was initially a few barebone paragraphs turned into a suitably coherent chapter, so thanks for that dear :D
> 
> Reader discretion for Inuyasha's potty mouth is advised.

 

 

"So Higurashi, is it?"

"That's right."

Miroku had been assigned to follow up on interrogating the inhabitants of the apartment block where the crime took place. He currently sat across the block's landlord, Kunihiko Wada; a stout, middle-aged man with a short, ratty beard and a face that desperately needed glasses to correct his prominent squint. Wada rested a hand over his round belly and scratched his beard thoughtfully before continuing.

"They've been renting from me for about two years now. They're a nice enough couple—they pay on time, and the girl always says hello and good morning, and even gives out leftovers on the times they have any. The guy though—he's a surly one. And the arguments they have are really hard to handle, what with the thin walls and everything."

Miroku's ears perked up. Yesterday most of the interviewees had expressed fear over a break-in and possible robbery. This was the first time he had ever heard anything about a prior conflict.

And it could possibly point to something troubling about the inhabitants of the apartment.

"What kind of arguments?" Miroku asked carefully.

Wada shrugged noncommittally. "The usual. Over work, money…the thing is that they argued on an almost daily basis. And even with the thin walls, they're always extremely loud."

"Has there ever been any indication of those arguments having turned violent?"

Wada furrowed his brow. "Hmmm...can't say I've seen any. They're usually quick to make up after."

The standard white office clock hanging over the adjacent wall caught Miroku's eye; it read ten past nine, which meant that Taniguchi-san was already here with her grandson and it would be their turn soon. The chair made a slight scraping noise as it was pushed back when Miroku stood, who then bowed to the landlord respectfully. "Thank you for your cooperation, Wada-san. We greatly appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. Just doin' my civic duty, officer."

"Let me walk you out."

Wada 'mhhmm-ed' in reply, allowing himself to be escorted out of the small office. To their immediate left were two other offices, with one also being used for the apartment block questionings, and the other currently unoccupied. Their placement was discreetly tucked away from the rest of the precinct office—a large, bustling place whose open-floor plan afforded them much more space than the kōban Miroku had been previously assigned to. A flat-screen showing the news hung from the ceiling close to the receptionist's counter for the few people who sat waiting in the rows of plastic seats for their appointments. The smaller desks were for the pencil pushers who also took additional calls redirected from other kōbans, or helped file the reams of paperwork involved in every aspect of their bureaucracy.

Taniguchi, her grandson, and a woman Miroku assumed was the boy's mother—Achika, according to her mother-in-law—stood up from their seats after noticing Wada exiting. After briefly exchanging greetings, Wada left, and Miroku held the door open to allow the small family inside for their continued interrogation.

"Thank you for coming," he bowed politely and directed them to sit in the chairs facing the desk. "Would anyone like something to drink?"

"No, but thank you," the boy's mother replied. She gestured to the bottle of peach nectar the boy had most likely purchased from one of the vending machines near the entrance. "I was told Daichi needed to come in for questioning."

"It's nothing too serious," Miroku assured her in response to the uneasy edge to her voice. "His grandmother said he heard what happened, as they were together at the time. Since I didn't get a chance to ask him what his version of the event is, I was hoping that scheduling the appointment for today would help us get a clearer picture of the crime scene."

Achika pursed her lips nervously. "I understand. But please, don't push him too hard."

Miroku pressed a hand to his chest, assuming an entirely serious face. "You have my word." The detective then directed his attention to the little boy, who had been completely engrossed with trying to open his bottle of juice with little success. He wore a tiny face mask and he looked as though he hadn't slept well. "Hello. Do you need any help with that?"

Daichi looked up, a little surprised that he was being addressed, but handed the bottle over gratefully. "Yes, please. It's really hard!"

The cap came off with an easy twist of the wrist, and Miroku handed the peach drink back, which was hastily gulped before a stern look from his mother reminded Daichi that he had to mind his manners. "Thank you, mister policeman!" he said in a congested voice.

"It was no trouble at all," Miroku smiled kindly. He walked over to the boy's side, kneeled down to his eye level, and leaned in confidentially. "Can you keep a secret?"

Daichi's eyes widened. "Mama says it's not nice to keep things from others."

"Your mama is right, but in this case, I'm asking you because you look like someone who's good at helping others. And I need your help to do my job, Daichi-kun."

The little boy glanced back at his mother, who nodded encouragingly, if a bit anxiously, back at him. Daichi then mulled over the request with a small, thoughtful pout. "...Ok."

"Thank you, Daichi-kun," Miroku beamed brightly. He cupped his hand next to his mouth. "You'll be a great help to me. You see, I'm actually a detective."

Daichi gasped. "Like Conan?"

"Yes, just like Conan."

The boy exhaled a quiet little 'wow.' His eyes shone with pure, undisguised amazement. "Does that mean you catch a lot of bad guys?"

Miroku uttered a short, blustery laugh. "If there are bad guys to be caught, then yes. But my job is mostly finding out things that are hidden, or need a little more help solving." His tone shifted; age appropriate enough not to scare the child, but much more serious and professional compared to his previous candour. "You were with your grandmother yesterday when the police came, right? You heard what happened before we got there?"

"...Yeah," Daichi's voice turned small and timid. He clutched his mother's hand for support. "It was really loud and scary."

"Could you tell me what happened before and during the time that you were there?"

The little boy bit his lip. Looking back to his mother, she gave him a reassuring look, which was enough to give him the courage to speak. "Okay." He screwed up his face as he attempted to gather his recollection of the events.

"Take all the time you need," Miroku said.

"Mama dropped me off at grandma's in the morning because she said I was too sick for school," he intoned slowly. "We said hi to mister Inuyasha because it was time for him to go to work, and Kagome nee-chan stayed home too because she got sick like me."

"I remember," Taniguchi spoke, looking apologetic for interrupting, "that I offered her some of the leftover soup I had. She said she was too sick to keep any food down, but thanked us all the same. The poor girl…"

"She looked  _awful_ ," Daichi added.

"Daichi! Don't be so rude!" his mother scolded.

"But it's true! And besides, I looked the same when I ate Grandpa's stew, and you said it was because he used bad crabs."

As highly amusing as he found the exchange, Miroku cleared his throat politely but firmly. "Might we return to the subject at hand?"

Taniguchi's cheeks flushed a faint pink. "My apologies...I shouldn't have interrupted like that."

"Please, don't worry, Taniguchi-san. I'm just hoping we can be able to finish our session soon, so that you can all go back home and return to your normal lives. Being cooped up in a police station is stressful enough for you all."

"Thank you, Detective."

"So," Miroku turned back to Daichi. "What happened next?"

The little boy hummed pensively before responding. "Grandma made breakfast...she said I could have potato croquettes if I finished my soup, so I did, and I was happy because she makes really good croquettes. Then she gave me my medicine, and it was really yucky. I felt bad yesterday because I was coughing a lot and my throat felt funny, so grandma made me tea and let me watch some TV, but then there was this boring show on so I stopped watching. And then I got tired and grandma said we could take a nap."

"And after that is when you heard what happened in the neighbour's apartment," Miroku concluded.

"Yeah," Daichi mumbled.

Miroku needed to know more. He already heard Taniguchi-san's recollection of the events, and, despite that a child as young as Daichi might possibly not have as clear a memory of the crime as he would have liked (or a testimony as detailed as an adult's) the detective pressed on. "Can you tell me what happened when you heard the noise?"

The little boy twisted his hands over and under each other, a repetitive, self-soothing motion that underscored the effort he was putting into remembering. "I woke up because of it. Grandma covered my ears," he said. "It was really scary and loud."

Miroku noted Daichi's omission of him crying, but, heedful of his mother's warning, chose not to comment to avoid a possible upset. "Did it last long? Were you able to hear anything?" he questioned cautiously. "What did you do after?"

"Ummmm…" Daichi's soft hum echoed the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights uncomfortably, similar to the effect of talking into a fan. "I don't really know how long it was...but I could hear a few things…"

"Like?"

"Kagome nee-chan sounded angry, but also scared. I heard her say 'get out!' and 'my husband will be here soon!'"

The boy's words, frustratingly enough, didn't give Miroku enough clues as to who Mrs Higurashi was referring to, or whether she knew the person at all. Daichi's grandmother was equally vague, having focused more on keeping him close and consoling him, and thus missed out on the specifics. However, Daichi's statement did provide Miroku the confirmation he needed: that Higurashi had confronted an intruder, and said intruder was the reason for her disappearance.

"When it was over, grandma told me to go to her room and close the door because she was gonna call the police. I was really scared but I did what she told me," Daichi sniffled. "I waited and when she was done, she told me that she called my mama to come pick me up early. I wanted to go check on Kagome nee-chan because I wanted to make sure she was okay, but grandma said no. She said I couldn't go to mister Inuyasha and Kagome nee-chan's place because it might be dangerous, and they wouldn't like it if I snooped. So she told me to wait again while she talked to the police, and then mama came and we went home."

Miroku considered the little boy's statement very carefully. There seemed to be no major omission of details, and his testimony matched his grandmother's. Before he wrapped the session up, he wanted to see if Daichi could also confirm what Wada told him.

Something about what he heard of the husband was rubbing Miroku the wrong way.

"I heard from the landlord," the detective probed very carefully, "that the Higurashis argued a lot. Did you ever hear any of their fights before today?"

Daichi's brow furrowed, confused. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, I was told the walls are very thin and the hallway amplifies a lot of sound—were you able to hear anything more that Kagome-san said? Like when she fought with her husband?"

"But I told you. Grandma covered my ears."

Achika made a displeased noise at the back of her throat, but otherwise said nothing, and Miroku reminded himself to dial back his approach. "I'm sorry. I just want to get a better picture of the scene." He scratched his neck sheepishly and cleared his throat before resuming. "Were there any problems with them before today? Anything that was weird about them at all?"

"No, but...Mister Inuyasha wasn't home when it happened…"

"Did you know if anyone was really mad with the Higurashis? Or one of them specifically?"

"No, they're really nice people and we all like them."

"Are you sure about that?" The words tumbled out of Miroku's mouth before he had a chance to stop and think them over, and he immediately regretted them as Daichi's eyes went wide and round with shock.

Achika reached a hand out to her son, and the look she shot Miroku was hard and unforgiving. "Daichi—"

"I'm not lying!" the little boy blubbered. "They're not bad people! I promise!"

"Daichi-kun, I—" Miroku tried to speak.

"They didn't do anything wrong! Please don't take them away!" Daichi's tiny little surgical mask crumpled over his distraught face as he turned to grab fistfuls of his mother's pink cardigan. "If the detective thinks they're bad people, then he's gonna lock them up and we'll never ever see them again!" he wailed.

"I think we're done here." Daichi's mother heaved her crying toddler over her shoulder and rubbed his back slowly but firmly. The look on her face was absolutely uncompromising and brooked no further arguments. "Thank you for your time, Detective."

Miroku bowed low, deeply apologetic. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to upset him."

"It's all right," Achika said stiffly. "I think we should get going."

"I'll walk you out."

The little boy's subdued sniffles were drowned out by the sudden rush of noise from the station when Miroku opened the door, allowing the small family to exit before he did. Daichi lifted his head from his mother's shoulder and rubbed tiredly at his red-rimmed eyes, focusing his worried gaze on Miroku. "Am I in trouble?" he asked in a small voice.

"Not at all," Miroku reassured him quickly. "You were very helpful and I'm very grateful that you came today."

Daichi said nothing, laying his head down on his mother's shoulder again. Achika was about to say something to Miroku before Daichi shot up in her arms, wriggling and struggling until she was forced to let him go, and the boy immediately made for the entrance with his shocked mother about to call after him; until her recognition of the man that appeared in the doorway made her stop in her tracks.

Higurashi Inuyasha's worn, bright red work jacket was like a flashing beacon, to say nothing of his very long and less than socially acceptable hairstyle. The rest of his outfit was as equally scruffy as his outerwear, and his dirty boots had muddied up the station's floor. The little boy had run straight to the man, grabbing the leg of his pants and tugging almost desperately. He said something that Miroku couldn't hear from where he was watching.

"Not now, kid," Miroku heard Higurashi mutter.

Daichi shook his head and tugged on the man's pants again, insistently. He turned back to look and, spotting the detective, pointed straight to him, the rude gesture prompting Taniguchi-san to suck in a reproachful breath. He then pulled out a small Kamen Rider action figure from the pocket of his baggy sweatshirt and gave it to Inuyasha. When Higurashi protested and made to give it back, Daichi shook his head and pressed it harder into the older man's much larger hand.

The gesture was a very sweet one that tugged uncomfortably on Miroku's heart strings. He was unable to see the full extent of Higurashi's response, as the other man had bowed his head to get a closer look at Daichi, but then got the full brunt of his stare as Inuyasha ruffled the boy's head quietly and then lifted his eyes.

They were a very unusual colour. They could even be called amber if the light hit them right. What had captured Miroku's attention the most, however, was the look they had: the man wore an expression that only the most jaded of people possessed, with years of built up anger, mistrust, and bitterness written all over it. Bitterness and…something else that Miroku couldn't quite place his finger on, yet unnerved him all the same.

Whatever it was that Daichi saw in Higurashi was not apparent to the detective.

"Glad to see you here, Higurashi-san," Miroku bowed politely in greeting. "I was just finishing up with the Taniguchis."

"Thanks." Higurashi's quiet mutter did not sound thankful at all.

A tense silence fell upon the scene. Taniguchi-san glanced at Miroku nervously from the corner of her eye and swallowed. Daichi's mother's hand tightened ever so slightly over the strap of her purse. Daichi was fixated solely on Higurashi, and clung to the man's leg and gazed up at him with large, teary eyes.

Not often did Miroku feel daunted by the task before him, but today was one of those times.

The detective cleared his throat delicately. "Shall we, then? The office is empty for our use."

"Sure," Higurashi grunted. He stared irritably at the cheerful pink and orange posters advertising an upcoming police precinct event before brushing past Miroku and Taniguchi's family, with naught but a single glance in Daichi's direction to acknowledge anyone else.

Achika sighed. "Moody as ever…though I can't really blame him," she said under her breath. She bowed again to Miroku and took her son's hand. "We hope to have been helpful today, Detective. Thank you for your work."

"T-thank you," Daichi sniffled.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Daichi-kun," Miroku said, sincerely apologetic. "And I should be thanking you, too. What you told me will really help us out in our investigation."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

The little boy considered his words very carefully, chewing nervously on a loose piece of skin around his fingernail, the wet digit forming a small bulge under his medical mask. His sigh was muffled by the mask and his cold, but Miroku's statement seemed to be acceptable enough. "Ok."

"Let's go home," his mother said quietly. "I have some nice hot soup ready for you before you take your medicine, and then you can take a nap."

Daichi sighed tiredly. As they were turning to leave, Daichi whirled around, as though having forgotten something. "Mister Detective!"

Miroku was startled by the intensity of his gaze. It looked as though he wanted to say something important. The detective knelt before the little boy very solemnly, as though he were a knight waiting for a pronunciation from his lord-liege. "What is it, Daichi-kun?"

"Please don't be mean to Mister Inuyasha. He's a good guy. He said he doesn't need more trouble."

The words were spoken so clearly, so seriously, that Miroku was temporarily rendered speechless. He already knew by the outburst in the office that Daichi considered Higurashi to be someone important to him...but how? Why? Why was he so determined to vouch for the man's character, and why so desperately?

And what did he mean by 'more trouble'?

Taniguchi and her family were gone by the time he finished pondering Daichi's mysterious words, the childish plea and his tears fresh on Miroku's mind. No matter. He still had the man's testimony to process before he went on break.

An uneasy shiver ran down the length of Miroku's back, and again, he wondered at the strength of such reactions.

Miroku opened the door and offered a quick apology for his delay, seeing that Higurashi had sat down in the plastic chair facing the desk.

"Keh. Took you long enough," was his only reply.

A long, uncomfortable silence engulfed them as Miroku struggled to process the astonishingly frank rudeness of the man before him. He already knew that Higurashi was a rough character from the moment he set eyes on him, but having his first impression confirmed so quickly was a bit unsettling. It told Miroku that the interrogation process was not going to go as smoothly as he had hoped. Mori was the one who'd been tasked with Higurashi's first interrogation after he'd barged in on them processing the crime scene, so this was really the first time that he and Miroku were speaking face to face. That, and they'd had to cut it short earlier because Shako, the precinct director, thought the man needed a break after the shock of having his apartment broken into and his wife going missing.

He studied the man further. The dirt and grime covering Higurashi's jacket looked worse up close (he hoped it wouldn't stain the white plastic of the chair), his pants looked equally bad with their patched knees, and his boots were the worst part of his ensemble (Miroku prayed silently to whatever god was listening that the floor's clean-up wouldn't be too difficult). Higurashi's face and posture, however, were the cherries on top of the sulky sundae—everything about them screamed hostility and negativity. Whereas Taniguchi and her daughter-in-law had sat perfectly straight in their chairs, Higurashi slouched almost defiantly, with a large, scarred and calloused hand resting on the table, angled slightly towards the detective. Miroku thought that maybe he was reading too much into it, but he had a sudden thought that the gesture was meant to be threatening.

Higurashi's face though...it had a story to tell, and not a pretty one at that. The three scars he possessed (one running below his right eye, another crossing his cheekbone, and the last splitting the corner of his lips evenly) attested to a life of delinquency. And those scars underscored the hard, angry look he was giving Miroku with those strange, bright eyes of his.

They were the eyes of a man who did  _not_  trust the police.

"We're happy to have you here with us, Higurashi-san." Miroku hoped his platitudes didn't sound too forced. "I understand that you needed time to recuperate after the shock of having your apartment broken into yesterday, but your testimony is invaluable to us—"

"Whadda I gotta tell you that you don't already know from asking the neighbours and from what I told the other guy? You should be out there looking for Kagome instead of wasting time on writing your paperwork and crap."

Miroku was stunned into silence. He resisted the urge to utter a scandalised 'I beg your pardon?' as though he were a grandmother, and opted to keep silent for the moment, trying to gauge the best way to reply. "I understand that you are upset, but please understand that this is part of the process. We need to collect testimonies from every person who lives—"

"Didn't ya get it the first time around?" Higurashi snarled. "What  _I_  say doesn't matter at all, 'cause in the end all you're gonna get is the same damn thing the neighbours said, and all that means is more time spent over meaningless paper when you could be looking for my  _missing wife_."

" _Higurashi-san_." His irritation slipping through, Miroku allowed his backbone to show, if only to assert himself and attempt to do his job. "I know this is very difficult for you, but you have to understand that this is part of the process. We have to collect testimony from every inhabitant of the apartment unit so that we can compare them and see what matches up and what doesn't. And as an inhabitant of the crime scene and the missing victim's  _husband_ , your testimony is the most important one of all—you were the last person to see her. We need to be sure that your words match theirs, so that we can provide updated information to our officers who are currently out canvassing the streets as we speak." He paused. "I hope that with that knowledge, we can cooperate so that we can find her faster."

Higurashi's eyes narrowed, clearly wanting to shoot back, but he kept quiet. His body language, however, changed, with his upper body now angling towards Miroku and the set of his shoulders tensing, as though he was bracing himself for something. "This better be quick."

Miroku carefully skimmed through the Taniguchi's report. "Oh, you have something else scheduled for today?" he tried to ask pleasantly, wanting to forget the past few seconds of  _un_ pleasantness...

"Yeah." Higurashi glared. "Looking for my wife."

Ah. Right.

Miroku cleared his throat and shuffled the papers out of their manila folder somewhat self-consciously. His witness was determined to be as rude and standoffish as possible, it seemed, and it put him at a bit of a loss. Miroku put a great deal of effort into being as pleasant, polite, and charming as he possibly could—it usually guaranteed great results, especially with older women. Having such an attentive and kind officer put their minds at ease, knowing that someone was looking out for them, or at least making an effort. But this man was trying his patience and rebuffing him; Higurashi's attitude, coupled with the neighbours' and Wada's previous testimony of it, made the detective take a decidedly negative view of him.

"Could you please recount to me yesterday's events?" Miroku said, taking on a more serious tone.

Higurashi rolled his eyes again. His foot drummed out an annoying rhythm on the floor. "You already heard this from the first guy, but if you want it so bad, fine," he muttered irritably. "Got up at 6:30. Showered. I could hear Kagome moaning from the futon 'cause the stupid woman didn't wanna throw out the bad leeks last night, and look where it got her."

Miroku scribbled this all down dutifully. To himself, he made a mental note to write later (and, most importantly, without Higurashi seeing):  _derogatory speech towards missing person._

Higurashi had his eyes trained at all times on Miroku's face, hands, and note taking; to this, Miroku added  _hypersuspiciouness._  Higurashi's eyes narrowed but he said nothing, and continued. "She made us breakfast, but she didn't want any, and I said that she couldn't go to work like that. She's always been so damn insistent about having the last word, but then I told her that she wouldn't want to puke into the kid's breakfasts and make 'em sick too. That shut her up real quick."

Miroku already knew the answer to his question, but asked regardless. "In what line of work does your wife's job lie?"

"She works at this orphanage type place. She helps to look after kids and old people."

"I see."

The electric droning sound of the incandescent lights and the steady monotony of the clock ticking underscored how ill at ease Miroku felt about the whole situation. Not in the sense of impending doom or dread or anything of the sort...but something about it was just off-putting.

"Kagome saw me off at the door," Higurashi said, unprompted, puncturing the bubble of uncomfortable silence. "Taniguchi's daughter-in-law was dropping off her brat and they said hi. They offered us soup. Then I left for work."

"And what is your current line of employment?" Miroku already knew the answer to that too.

Higurashi grunted noncommittally, but the rapid-fire tap-tap of his fingers betrayed his agitation. "Construction."

"Could you elaborate on that, please?"

"What's there to elaborate? It's construction. Welding. Heavy lifting. Same old shit."

_Foul mouthed_. Miroku remembered yesterday's outburst and added it silently.

"What was that?"

With a start, Miroku realised that he had been mouthing his mental notes to himself, and Higurashi caught on to that, if his thunderous expression was anything to go by. Cursing himself ( _mentally_ ), the detective tried to wave it off. "Oh, sorry. I sometimes just mumble gibberish to myself. It's a bad habit I've had for a long time," he chuckled nervously.

_My ass,_  Miroku saw Higurashi mutter to himself. He wished the clock could move a little faster.

Tapping his pen apprehensively against the surface of the manila folder, Miroku tried to stay on the line of questioning. "And you were at work all day?"

"No. I got a call around noon for me—us grunts never get calls 'cause the phone's in the office, unless it's an emergency. I thought her stupid ass had tried to be brave about being sick and she'd decided to try and cook something. That dump of a place is always in danger of burning down, especially with old hags like Taniguchi constantly falling asleep over the damn stove."

"But this wasn't a call about a fire," Miroku said.

"No." Something in Higurashi's eyes darkened—his voiced turned rougher, and his body hunched in on itself. His scarred hand rubbed his wrist. "Eijun from next door was the one who called. Said he heard a fight in our apartment...that someone'd tried to break in while Kagome was in there."

"So you left work to come check on her?"

"You're damn right I did!" Higurashi's growl was positively animalistic. Like an angry dog's. "I footed it all the damn way 'cause I didn't have time for a cab or some shit like that. When I got home, the place was swarming with cops." He stopped to glare menacingly at Miroku. "And I found  _you_  there, too."

"I remember." Miroku attempted to keep his reply as even as possible.

"I've told you all I know now," Higurashi rasped angrily. "Now you gotta tell me what I wanna know. Where the hell is she?"

The detective pondered his next words very, very carefully. He was not liking the direction the conversation was going—recounting the events seemed to have agitated Higurashi, and his moody hyperfocus on Miroku had turned nastier in tone. Miroku did not want a fight to start in the office...especially not at such a busy hour for the precinct.

But what to say?

"We don't know yet," Miroku said calmly, trying to ignore the frustrated growl in response. "We're in the process of checking the streets surrounding the neighbourhood to see if any camera might have captured anything we can use."

"If you don't know, then this is fucking pointless!" Higurashi snarled. "I already told you everything. The neighbours told you everything. All you're doing is rehashing useless shit so you can file papers at a cushy desk instead of doing your fucking job and looking for  _my missing wife!_ "

"Higurashi-san, please," Miroku pleaded. "We still have some questions to ask—"

"I'm done answering your fucking questions!" Higurashi's chair screeched awfully as he stood up, threw the door open, and stormed out of the precinct, leaving a tide of scared and confused bystanders in his wake. A few turned to look back into the open office, with Miroku still holding on helplessly to his pen.

He knew he would have Higurashi back in there for another round of questioning—the department already had his home telephone number and his landlord's as contact info. Even so, the spectacularly public end to the interrogation presaged a bad future series of meetings that only deepened Miroku's dislike of the man.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miroku is not liking the few building blocks he has to work with on the case so far...and it remains to be seen whether Inuyasha will turn out out to be more sympathetic in the future.
> 
> A few notes...
> 
> A kōban is a small police box placed in strategic areas in neighbourhoods-if you have a problem, you can visit one to ask for help. They're like a tiny, downgraded version of a police precinct.
> 
> I have little clue as to how the Japanese Police Force actually works, but I'm doing my best with research. If there are any mistakes that readers want to point out/good articles for reference that can be used, please do say so!
> 
> Until next time ;)


	3. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters will usually be shorter than the ones focusing on Sango and Miroku, but they may vary in length from time to time. They might also either reveal or withhold some important details from the readers depending on how I decide to write them.
> 
> Again, many thanks to the incomparable Sassybratt9791 for her amazing editing.

 

 

Kagome had read somewhere that the way movies showed unconsciousness was dangerous because they portrayed it as a relatively harmless thing—somebody would get knocked out by the bad guy or his henchmen, only to wake up perfectly fine hours later, or maybe just a little groggy—when in fact unconsciousness sustained for over a minute meant that the subject would most likely have brain damage.

In a way, Kagome was relieved; her being awake after what she hoped was a short amount of time most likely meant she hadn't suffered some kind of devastating injury. What was  _not_  good, however, was that her vision was blurry, her head and side pulsed in agonising pain, and her unbearable nausea hadn't lessened since the morning. She had a concussion, most likely.

Adding to her panic was that she had no clue where she was, nor could she identify the voices she heard faintly. Kagome tried to pick up the few details that she could in her state; from what she could tell, she was lying on a hard surface, with a strong vibration and the sensation of a few bumps jostling her making her guess at a van—the strong scent of petrol and the occasional street sounds confirmed it. The fuzzy outlines of a few people—definitely more than two—sat opposite her. Kagome supposed that meant another person was unaccounted for seeing as they needed someone to drive.

"...fucking idiot," she caught a rough voice saying.

"I swear I didn't mean—" someone else pleaded.

"Save it for later."

She could pick up the thick tension in the atmosphere even in her state, and wisely kept quiet. Kagome's hands felt numb and locked in the way that limbs that stay in one position for too long tend to feel—one was clamped firmly over her side, a little in the way of the intersection of her ribs and stomach, and she realised with a start that what little sensation she was regaining in her fingertips felt sticky and wet and smelled of iron.

She was bleeding.

Her moan attracted the attention of whoever those people were, and the rough-voiced one barked out a short order before directing another command to someone else in a lower voice. Kagome could barely discern their blurry forms, and a wave of nausea washed over her and forced her to squeeze her eyes closed to try and fight off the pain.

"—check her," she heard, right before a large, calloused hand belonging to an equally large and calloused man palpated her injured side tentatively before pressing down hard. The fresh sensation of hot, wet blood welling up and the spike of pain that followed made her gasp and then start to cry, prompting a round of curses and another order from the rough one. Kagome felt a wad of cloth being forced down on her wound to try and staunch the bleeding. The sensory overload, coupled with her fear, her inability to see properly, and her confusion over the entire situation, made her give in to her dizziness and vomit.

"FUCK!" The hand holding the cloth retreated, but a loud threat from the rough voice forced it back in place. Kagome felt a flurry of activity from where she lay, most likely from someone scrambling back to avoid being near her vomit. But throwing up had helped a little, though; in spite of the acrid stench and the bitter taste in her mouth, it was as if a giant weight had been relieved from her stomach.

"Clean that shit up," rough-voice growled and tossed his black hair. The person who'd argued with him before—certainly a contrast to the rest in his nicer wardrobe—began to protest before being quickly silenced. "I don't care about your excuses! You got us into this mess, so you're gonna be the one to get us out."

Kagome felt as though her head was a million times lighter, too. The shapes began to take on a more coherent form, and the metallic vibration of the car engine below running through her body was soothing. All she wanted to do was to give in to it, to lean into the exhaustion cradling her and sleep. Vomiting helped, but it left her feeling limp and weak, too. Kagome wanted to close her eyes and pretend she was having a nightmare.

She thought back to that morning when she was still at home and too ill to even get out of the futon to go to the toilet. Inuyasha, in spite of still being upset over the previous night's argument, fussed over her, and she remembered how he nagged her over breakfast to drink more tea and to take the ibuprofen her mother had sent last week. It had been so strange to see him off at the door instead of at the street corner they usually parted ways on when they left for work. She vaguely wondered what he was doing at the moment, and if he would come for her like he always did back when they were still in high school, young, cocky, and in over their heads.

Pain and fear paralysed her wounded body, and Kagome closed her eyes to the thought of her husband.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*Inuyasha voice*) KAGOMEEEEEEEEEEEEE
> 
> I'm looking forward to writing more of these interlude chapters...they're so delightfully evil in ways that the "normal chapters" aren't!


	4. First Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pesach and Easter to those who celebrate! I hope you're all enjoying this nice spring weather and the convoluted daylight savings change :)
> 
> Many thanks again to the one and only Sassybratt9791 for her impeccable betaing, as usual, and for correcting a lot of potential mistakes and plot holes. Please go check her out!

 

 

You've got to be kidding me," Koharu muttered incredulously under her breath. " _He's_  here?"

The precinct buzzed with activity even this early in the morning; no one wanted to be known as the lazy asshole who couldn't be bothered to show their commitment to the job by coming in after 7. Sango was one of the first to be there, naturally, and she could usually be found toting a cup of coffee from the shop around the corner while going over a file or two. She was loitering by the water cooler with Koharu Amamiya, a friend who had transferred over to their precinct a year back, and Tsuyu Kai, an older colleague.

"Is he the guy you complained about to us all those times? Your coworker from before your transfer?" The clear disdain in Sango and Koharu's glares directed at the back of Miroku's head merited Tsuyu's commentary.

"Yeah," Koharu said. "It started when I asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend so that Aburachōji creep would buzz off and leave me alone. Turns out this Miroku guy is almost just as bad anyways!"

Sango had heard that their newest addition to the precinct—Mr. Hotshot—was a lecher. She'd heard Koharu's horror stories. "Remind me of what he did again, would you, Koharu?" she asked, her stare never leaving Miroku's vicinity.

"I can't decide which one is worse: the time he copped a feel in public at that precinct event in Disneyland, or when my parents stopped by to visit and they saw him running his mouth with that 'will you bear my child' line."

"Oh, dear…" Tsuyu's hand covered her mouth delicately.

"So much for the precinct giving a rat's ass about gender equality," Koharu growled and slurped down her own cup of coffee angrily. "I filed  _three_  reports about the guy and _I_  was the one who got lectured about 'preserving the department's good standing.'"

"A load of bull, if you ask me," was Sango's cool reply. By then Miroku had noticed them and, ending his own conversation with Mori, strolled over to them far more chipper than any man had a right to be at 5:30 in the morning.

"Morning, ladies," he called out, grinning cheerfully.

"Good morning," they returned the greeting politely, but Sango's frostiness and Koharu's half-heartedness prompted a raised eyebrow on his part.

"Or perhaps not a good one then. Something wrong?"

"Everything's been fine so far," Sango said tightly. "I see you've decided to grace us with your presence before 7 for a change, Detective."

He had the gall to laugh, running a hand through his irritatingly messy hair (loose from its usual tail, Sango noticed), and shifting his weight with a casual lean in their direction. "I figured that I should start taking this a little more seriously for a change."

"Good for you." Sango's response bordered on apathy.

"But there's also something about this case that I believe merits more of my time and undivided attention." He flashed that obnoxiously toothy smile again. Ugh. The sight alone made Sango feel like she wanted to walk out of the room. "Though I suppose that the privilege of working with such beautiful, intelligent ladies in the same department should be motivation enough!"

Tsuyu's tiny titter was not a fake one, but it was easy to hear the politeness behind it rather than it being a product of a genuinely flattered reaction; the woman giggled constantly around her husband and the difference was  _marked_. Koharu's snort was poorly disguised but it apparently escaped Miroku's notice. Or he chose to ignore it, anyways.

"That's very kind of you, but it's best to limit the small talk and flattery to the lunch hour," Sango chided. "Let's not distract ourselves when we should be focusing on our work."

"If I do recall, you seemed to be rather  _distracted_  yourself when you couldn't decide between ordering the regular black coffee, or the rather delicious looking mocha latte at the shop today, Sango-san," he teased.

 _What the hell?_  Not only was this guy being an obnoxious flirt, but he was  _following_  her to work, too? Sango felt a, sadly now familiar, flush of irritation climb up her back and rub uncomfortably with her shirt collar. "I care about the quality of what I put in my body, thanks." Her snippiness came out in full force, to the point of making even Koharu look taken aback.

Miroku raised his free hand in a placating gesture. "Forgive me. I was only trying to scout out the coffee places around the precinct, and you seem like a reliable arbiter of good taste. But alas, I must confess that my budget comes first." He raised his 7-Eleven cup to his lips and took a noisy sip.

"Just be ready for the meeting," Sango snapped and whirled around, wanting nothing more than to just escape from his presence already. "And comb your hair before you come in, for gods' sake!"

Tsuyu and Koharu stood, mouth agape, before coming back to their senses and murmuring hurried apologies before running after Sango, their heels clicking loudly on the linoleum floor. Miroku, smirking lightly to himself, took another sip of coffee.

"Bi-tchy," a sing-song voice called out to him. His friend's paunch, straining against his white buttoned shirt, sidled up next to him as they both watched the women receding from sight.

"Now now, Hachi," Miroku made a small, too satisfied noise of content as he drained the cup and lobbed it into the nearest bin, pumping his fist slightly when it made a perfect landing. "Let's play nice."

 

* * *

 

The hum of the fluorescent lighting helped to mask some of the noise filtering in from the bullpen as the rest of the officers trickled in to the conference room, exchanged quiet greetings, and took their seats. Unsurprisingly, Miroku was late. Sango rolled her eyes. Leave it to him to be late to a scheduled meeting when he was already in the building.

"Thank you all for coming," the chief of forensics, a rather tall and monkish looking man with a buzzcut, bowed to the assembly. "We have compiled this presentation with the data we have gathered so far in the hopes that it will assist us in solving this case. We hope it will be to the benefit of everyone investigating."

A young and mousy assistant flipped on the projector's switch, the PowerPoint logo briefly dominating the canvas of the projection screen before fading to the presentation's first slide.

"What is obvious even at first glance is that the scene of the crime was violent. The perpetrator made a mistake, alerted the victim to their presence, and a struggle ensued."

"Ah, wait a moment," a young officer, an annoying type Sango surmised had come straight from the academy, raised his hand for a question. "Why not 'he?' Are we sure we're using the right pronouns here? Why not assume the gender?" His friend giggled next to him.

"Let's just use 'they' as a placeholder for now, so shut it, kid," Hata snarled. The young man shrunk back in his chair.

"Statistically, it's much more likely for a criminal, especially someone involved in a violent assault, to be a man," Miroku explained, walking through the door as though he wasn't five minutes late. His hair was combed back into its usual tail and his shirt was tucked in. He winked at Sango as he sat down, prompting a scowl on Hata's part.

"Correct," the forensics chief said, irritated. "But until we are 100% certain, and to keep things unbiased, we will be placing our phrasing around 'suspect,' 'perpetrator,' and 'assailant.'" Why Sango and the others had to listen to a rehash of basic police academy terms was anyone's guess, but she strongly suspected it had to do with aggravating men running their mouths when they shouldn't have.

The second slide was brought up. It was a diagram of the crime scene.

 

                                                                          

 

"Now," the chief pulled out a laser pointer from his vest pocket. "From what has been seen so far, we've established that the perpetrator entered through the window." He shined the tiny red dot onto the drawing. "They most likely punched through, as a glass cutter would have left a much cleaner circular outline." The slide transitioned to a closer look at the window. The photograph on display showed a jagged, but surprisingly small looking hole next to the latch. "A small piece of gravel was found on the floor along with a minimum amount of glass. It tells us that the perpetrator has enough experience with break-ins to know about these low tech methods of breaching windows while minimising the amount of damage done to the rest of the pane."

"A career criminal, then?" Tsuyu ventured.

"Possibly."

For a brief moment, the only sounds besides the buzzing from the fluorescent lights were of the officers taking down notes. The annoying young officer's friend piped up. "Since the hole in the window looks pretty small for a break, could that mean that the suspect's a woman? Possibly a very young one?"

"With all due respect, Awara-san, size doesn't really give us an indication as to the perpetrator's gender." The man speaking now was Kuranosuke Takeda, an old friend of Sango's whose gentle, courteous disposition made him rather easy to get along with as well as a generally popular and well-liked individual. Sango flashed him a quick smile of approval as Awara slid back into his seat. The petulancy of the display contrasted poorly with Kuranosuke's calm demeanour. "Nor does it point to any conclusion of an age. What we  _can_  gather is that this person was strong enough to fight against an adult woman and most likely win."

"That is a good point to make, Takeda-san," the chief bobbed his head appreciatively. "Though there were certain cues the lab took when processing the scene that allowed us to gather enough information on the victim to create what we believe is an accurate enough profile on the perpetrator."

The slide showed a photograph of the cramped kitchen/dining room combination where the crime took place. The contrast between the diagram—the sterile, black and white digital rendition by an artist—compared to the full colour photo, was stark, sobering; the blood looked rusty, ominously so, against the pale wooden flooring and the white walls. The overturned table with its broken leg was brightly illuminated by the camera flash and made the window behind it appear washed out.

"Despite the close quarters of the space, the violence of the altercation is apparent and the amount of blood found was enough to confirm that most of it belongs to an adult female."

Koharu made a small, disturbed noise at the back of her throat. To imagine what happened to that poor woman…

"Sweeps of the area confirmed that the bedroom, bathroom and washroom were untouched, with nothing of significance to this case having been found there so far. It indicates the entirety of the scene most likely remained confined to that room. What we did find through area analysis, the blood tests, and dust printing helped to reconstruct the events of the crime."

A layout of the room flashed into view, with thin arrows superimposed over the drawing connecting it to the photographs of key points of the crime scene: the broken window, the blood on the floor and the corded telephone, the table, the bowl of fruit, and the smashed vase. The projectionist pushed a button and the presentation added a transparent set of footprints, coloured orange, onto the slide.

"The perpetrator made a careful entrance and took care to remove their shoes before entering, thus ensuring that no mud or debris from outside the apartment could be tracked over the floor. They moved behind the kitchen counter and began to open the drawers in a seemingly random pattern, searching for something that remains unknown to us. No prints were revealed, thus we can assume they wore gloves of some sort."

Another push of the button added a set of green footprints to the scene.

"The snooping was evidently not performed quietly enough, as it woke the victim and propitiated a confrontation. The shoji to the bedroom was found open, and print dusting has revealed the small footprints of a bare-footed person standing in the threshold between the bedroom and the crime scene."

More button pushing. The next diagram reminded Sango of the complicated illustrations she'd seen in books demonstrating the footwork that went into different types of dances and where to place the feet: female right foot started, labelled with a one, male left foot took a step back with another one…

The chief cleared his throat before continuing. "Having been caught, the perpetrator attempted to make a getaway, but was knocked back into the counter, breaking the bowl containing the fruit."

The bowl icon went from opaque to colourful in the slide as he spoke.

"Here we can see that a weapon was drawn—most likely a knife of some kind—as this marks the point where blood appears on the scene. The victim was stabbed, whether to keep her away from the perpetrator or an intention to harm her anyways, and it makes her fall to the floor."

The icon standing in for the bloody smears on the floor turned a bright red.

"The positioning of the blood on the floor, coupled with the samples of skin and hair found, indicates that she feel to her knees and held herself upright with a hand—" an overhead photograph of the bloody floor flashed onscreen next to the diagram, "—before switching hands to hold her wounded left side and start crawling. The switch is what put the blood on the floor as well as created the smear, considering she dragged herself over it. The wound might have been rather deep, judging by the amount of blood."

Tsuyu's distressed noise prompted Sango to reach over and hold her hand in an attempt to comfort her. They were trained policewomen, yes, but it was always difficult to be confronted with the gruesome facts of their line of work.

"Now, the placement of the smears reveals an interesting side to the crime scene," the chief said. "There is no evidence of scuffing on the wooden floor that tells us she moved in a hurry—rather, the smears are long and uninterrupted. She was in pain, and the pain made her move slowly. What is even more interesting are the  _five_  smears made by her knees and legs. Now, moving so slowly, yet having enough time to reach the phone on the wall…perhaps her attacker was distracted. Perhaps they went back to their search for a little bit. Or maybe they were toying with her before she got to the telephone. Whatever happened, we don't know for certain yet."

To Sango's surprise, something in Miroku's face turned…hard. Angry, even.

What exactly was that about?

"So, she reached the phone to call for help. This is when the perpetrator made their move and struggled with her over it." A photo of the white corded telephone was brought up. "As you can see, the type of sponge texture seen over the surface contrasts with the smoother swipes of blood on the other side—we can hypothesise that the gloves worn by the perpetrator were of a soft material such as cloth or suede, and they absorbed some of the blood."

Koharu raised her hand, a habit she hadn't managed to shake off even after graduating the academy. "Sir, what about their footwear? Surely they didn't manage to avoid the blood on the floor and smear it all over?"

The chief shook his head lightly. "Most of the smearing from the perpetrator's feet was concentrated around the telephone's location. The perpetrator took the time to clean up after themselves, and though they most likely used water considering our team could still find blood with luminol, we've not found a single viable footprint."

That was bad. No fingerprints, no footprints…unless their mystery suspect had torn a shirt and had done them the kind favour of leaving it behind, then they had very little biological material to work with that wasn't Higurashi's. "Could there have been any fibres from clothing at the scene? Any dirt? Plant debris? Maybe they wore socks and some fibres got stuck in the blood?" Sango inquired.

"Our team did manage to find a few threads on the windowsill, but we're still processing them at the lab. And so far, the only dirt found at the scene was from the broken pots in the street out back, though it's still a little early to tell yet. We are still processing the blood for fibres as well."

"And the apartment's phone records? Their internet usage?"

"The Higurashi household has no computer and we are still in the middle of processing the telephone's answering machine, and we are still checking it for more evidence besides the victim's blood. In any case, it was quite… _difficult_  to persuade Higurashi-san to surrender his mobile."

Miroku and his gang—Sango assumed they got along well enough since they all sat together—immediately slumped in their chairs and groaned.

 _Oh, grow up_ , she thought sourly. _You're not the only ones who had to deal with him._

The forensics chief cleared his throat. "Continuing with the presentation…" he announced.

The slide then showed the coloured footprints moving to the overturned table.

"Some footprints here reveal the struggle continued and knocked the table over. Whoever it was had apparently been pushed back with enough force to break one of the table's legs." He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose."However, a bloody toeprint in front of the table supports the theory of Mrs. Higurashi fighting back and pushing her assailant away."

"Ah!" Tsuyu exclaimed with a small gasp. "There's blood on the table's edge too…she must have leaned over it!"

"But if she was in so much pain, how'd she do that?" the annoying young officer from before asked.

"Fear and adrenaline do help," the chief deadpanned. "There is also the fact that our diagram shows the broken shards of a vase close to the telephone's location—she most likely smashed it onto some vulnerable point like the face."

"So she threw herself on them?" Koharu asked.

The male officer made a little sound of incomprehension. "But if she managed to get them off with the vase, why didn't she take that chance to run instead of attacking them?"

 _Because some people are fighters,_ Sango replied in her mind. Far be it for her to approve of such recklessness, as it most likely robbed the poor woman of a chance to flee, but she recognised bravery when she saw it. Her heart hurt at the thought.

"Well, whatever she did, it didn't work for long, and whoever it was, they got her off them quick," Miroku added, rather seriously. "There's not much blood on the table's edge to suggest Higurashi-san was on it for an extended period of time, but the picture shows more blood a little ways next to the handprints. And, I'm not quite sure how to say it, but it looks a little…pressed. As though someone had laid down on it."

"An astute observation, detective," the chief nodded approvingly at Miroku. As petty as it was and as much as she didn't want to admit it, the gesture annoyed Sango.

"So…she was pushed off and was most likely stunned. It seems to me like the point where she decided to make a run for it."

Miroku's words hung heavily over the room like a dark cloud. As hard as she fought, as much as she struggled and screamed and gave it her all…they knew how well that ended for the poor woman.

The sentiment seemed to be shared by the forensics chief, judging by his low, pensive sigh. "A bloody partial print was found close to the genkan. And a small patch of blood was found on an adjacent wall. She might have tripped or been slammed into it. But we are still running tests and all the appropriate procedures to figure it out."

The sound of note taking was the only response.

"From there," he resumed the thread after clearing his throat delicately, "we can assume the perpetrator took the time to try and clean up after themselves and made off with the victim, or she escaped through the window afterwards." Another click prompted the next slide to come on-screen, this time showing a closeup of the windowsill—tiny traces of blood could be seen. "We've tested the blood on the window, and it matches the samples gathered from the floor."

"So…is this a kidnapping…?" Tsuyu ventured almost timidly.

"It may seem like it, but we aren't certain," the chief replied.

Miroku banged the desk loudly as he stood up immediately in response. "Wait, if the victim is missing and the scene of the crime was a violent one, how could it not be?" he demanded.

"At ease, detective," Sango warned under her breath.

"Shouldn't we have more people canvassing the streets?"

" _Detective,_ " Sango said, louder this time.

The tension, like a string pulled taught, was thin and ready to snap, but easily avoidable if one end slackened; thankfully, Miroku listened to her and sat back down, murmuring the appropriate apologies for his outburst.

"We are doing everything we can," the chief explained tiredly, "but until we have all the facts, we cannot allow ourselves to jump to conclusions. Yes, it's likely we are looking at a kidnapping scenario, but the higher ups have told Shako-san and our department to hold back from classifying it as such until we are absolutely certain––they don't want any panic spreading more than it has in that neighbourhood."

Sango bowed in Miroku's stead. "We understand. Our apologies."

The assistant, observing the tiny drama playing out before her, remembered herself and snapped back to attention when the chief cleared his throat pointedly. She pressed the button again and a full screen picture of the street behind the apartment was brought up.

The chief pushed his glasses back up his nose before resuming. "No blood was found on the asphalt or in the vicinity of the broken pots. Superficial soil testing did not give any results out of the ordinary either." He motioned for the assistant to press the button again. "What we  _did_ find was a brief set of tyre tracks, recently made. Probably from a getaway vehicle."

"So accomplices were involved," one of Miroku's friends piped up.

"Most likely. We're still checking street cameras for more evidence."

With that, the preliminary presentation of evidence was concluded, and the meeting momentarily broken up as the forensics team thanked all those present and gathered up their belongings while everyone else talked about the findings. The forensics team promised to be back with more information and updates as the case was processed; just as they had exited, none other than precinct chief Shako entered.

Sango immediately assumed a rigid stance. "Sir!" she saluted deferentially.

The tall, silver-haired officer smiled kindly at her. "Don't be so stiff Sango. It's just me!"

"Yes sir," she apologised immediately. She shot Miroku a brief, dirty look when he snickered.

"So!" Shako began speaking. "I see that our forensics team has just left. I hope that their talk gave us the information we need to further our investigation and help the Higurashis and their community."

"Yes sir!" the room intoned dutifully and bowed.

"Now then," Shako shuffled a handful of thick manila folders in his hands, and then spread them all out on the table. They were labelled with everyone's names, a folder to each, and were organised alphabetically. "Since the departments were reorganised this year, you'll be getting to work with new faces for the first cases since it was done. I'm sure you've all been acquainted with each other at the autumn event, but there's nothing wrong with a little refresher for today." He picked up a folder and held it out horizontally. "Sango!" he called out with a broad smile.

She strode forward obediently, stopping exactly before the folder, and took it carefully from him with another bow before tucking it under her arm and taking her place on his right. Her  _rightful_  place, she thought not without a little excitement.

"Inspector Tachibana will be the head of your investigative team," Shako said proudly. "Though she's young, she's one of the best graduates from the Academy and has proven herself up to the task."

Sango blushed, the faintest feeling of giddiness colouring her cheeks at his praise.

"She will lead your team and will make all the executive decisions in your stead, and she will report directly to me as well as superintendent Shimura. Alternatively, if she misbehaves, you can all also report her to us!" Shako teased.

"Sir—!" Sango began, but remembered that it was in bad form to talk back to her superiors and kept her mouth shut. The sound of Miroku and company's little giggles not only felt embarrassing, but annoyed her enough that she felt her neck and ears go hot.

Thankfully, Shako moved on to the next person. "Oda!"

One of the men from Miroku's little group broke ranks—a rather young looking man with sandy dyed hair tied back into a short but thick ponytail—to accept his folder. Sango wasn't apparently that much older than him, but she wondered if that was the latest fashion at the universities. Normally police departments were very strict about personal hygiene and presentation (her father forced her to trim a few centimeters off her own hair and to not use makeup when she went off to the academy herself), but perhaps Shako was relaxing the rules a bit in an attempt to entice young people to choose policework as a career.

Oda, hilariously, moved to try and stand next to Sango, but she blocked him with an upturned palm. "Not  _you_." The rebuke was quiet but enough to make his face turn a bright cherry red, and he slunk back almost guiltily as the chubbier one of his little gang barely stifled a snort.

"Oda-san is coming to us directly from the Academy as one of the top students of his class. He's part of our new cyber crimes division and I've been told from his instructors that he is especially gifted in dealing with cameras and internet tracking. As this is his first case, let's give him a warm welcome."

Though his blush had receded somewhat, Oda mumbled embarrassed  _thank yous_  to the polite clapping that followed Shako's statement.

Next up were Tsuyu's (a criminal psychologist), Kuranosuke's (a criminal investigator), and Koharu's (a field agent specialising in street and organised crime) introductions. Shako took a bit more time with Koharu as she had transferred to their precinct the last year; it was then that Sango saw a spark of recognition in Miroku's eyes, and Koharu pointedly stood opposite from him when she finished accepting her folder.

Shima Kuwatani, a young woman Sango knew but rarely interacted with, was presented to the rest of the team as their forensic liaison—from what little Sango remembered about her, she had no reputation as a troublemaker (unlike some people she could think of), but she was known as a bit of a ditz and a flirt. Case in point: the little smile sent their way after receiving her own folder had Oda's blush returning in full force, and Miroku's eyebrow raised suggestively.

Another of Miroku's friends—Kuranosuke referred to him as Awara—stepped forward. "Awara-san is a transfer from Toyo's third police precinct and will be working with you as a detective. He has over ten years of experience in the field and will be a source of valuable information as you proceed." Polite clapping and bowing followed as Awara waddled back to his place.

And next up…was Mr. Hotshot himself.

"Ishida-san," Shako started with a smile that Sango knew very well as not a genuine one, "is another recent transfer from Toyo's third. Though he may be young, his… _unorthodox_  way of thinking may prove to be beneficial. I hope you all get along and work together to solve this case."

"Yes sir!" everyone replied in kind.

The tightness around Shako's eyes relaxed now that he was done with introductions. "Good. Now that that's out of the way, I'm here to divide your team into two groups for next day's assignment." A brief buzzing sound had him check his back pocket––his clamshell phone was ringing, and he took it out, flipped it open, and closed it nonchalantly as he slipped it back in again. "As I was saying: Inspector Tachibana will take the first group to interview Higurashi-san's place of employment. Detective Ishida will lead the second to her family home—"

"Sir—" Sango interrupted, distressed, but caught herself in time and shut her mouth.

"––and the day after that will be dedicated to her husband's place of employment. Necessary, seeing as it's a rather large area to cover and apparently involves a large amount of people, so we need to be as thorough as possible." He seemed to not have paid the slightest attention to Sango's little outburst. He coughed a bit into his closed palm before continuing. "Tachibana will be taking Oda, Amamiya, and Awara. Ishida will be taking Takeda, Kuwatani, and Kai." Shako paused, surveying the room with a suddenly critical eye. "Has everyone understood?"

"Yes sir!" everyone said.

"Good! This concludes today's session. Please study your folders thoroughly before reconvening here tomorrow at 0500 hours sharp." Shako bowed his head to them. "We need an early start so we can close this case as soon as possible."

With everyone dismissed, they began filing out of the room in an orderly line, murmuring to each other about their newest assignment, reacquainting themselves, and exchanging small talk. Miroku, insufferable and way too happy about it, turned to wink at Sango before he shut the door.

Now, it was just her and the Assistant Commissioner. He had opened his phone to check the message he ignored earlier.

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights had never seemed louder.

"Sir…" Sango began, biting her lip. "Why him?"

Shako looked up from his phone casually. Closing it, he faced her, leaning back with a loud sigh on the table. "Sango––"

"You've heard about his misbehaviour," Sango finally let out what she'd been wanting to say since she learned Miroku was to be stationed with them. "He's had  _reports_  filed against him."

"Sango––"

"He's nothing but a liability and a nuisance! He comes in here acting like he can do things like in some cop movie, with no thought to procedure or protocol, and Koharu––"

" _Sango._ "

He wasn't loud or angry when he said it. But the finality of his tone, that familiar  _no buts_  to that single word, stopped her in her tracks mid-sentence. Sango closed her eyes, took a very deep breath, and counted to ten.

"I've heard," Shako replied in that cool, gravelly voice of his. "But it doesn't take away from what he was able to accomplish during his time there. I daresay you're being a little hard on him––"

" _Hard_  on him? That's got to be the most ridi––"

"––and it's not the first time you've done that to anyone here, including yourself."

"If I'm  _hard_  on anyone it's because I  _need_  to be. We're police officers! We can't afford not to be hard on ourselves and everyone else involved in this."

"Well, maybe you're mistaken, Sango," and she heard a weariness in his voice that was seldom heard, even in serious situations. "Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him. Gods know it wouldn't kill you to maybe relax your standards a bit."

Sango felt her stomach sink. "Oh no. Oh no no no. I am not going to let him be some––some morality pet, or whatever it is those characters are in buddy cop comedies. You know what? That's exactly what this is," she began to ramble, feeling that now depressingly familiar sense of irritation rise to her neck again. "This is the setup of every buddy cop story out there: I'm the mean, by-the-book establishment cop, and he's supposed to the free-spirited rookie maverick that gets me to _loosen up_  and be  _nicer_ ," she practically spat.

"Or," Shako said, not bothering to hide his exasperation, "you're the anchor he needs to keep himself from sinking."

"The what?"

"I don't think that whatever has been reported against him is such a terrible thing," he stated, and cut Sango off just as she started to argue against him. "But. Without an eye as discerning––" Sango scoffed at that––"or a hand as steady as yours, I fear his lack of tact and his relative sense of…blitheness could get him into more trouble, and he might not be able to recover from it."

Sango dragged her carefully manicured hand down her face. "Why this sudden concern? Have you met before? Are you close?" she almost accused.

"I used to be well acquainted with his grandfather," Shako admitted with a deep breath rushing out of his nose. The solemnity…the genuine sadness in his eyes immediately quieted Sango down, but also piqued an interest over what exactly those connections meant.

What did he know about Miroku that he wasn't telling her about?

"I even saw him as a little boy, once, though he probably doesn't recognise me. And I think he's grown up into a fine young man." Shako sighed very deeply again. "I've heard about his intelligence, his nose for danger, his sense of intuition…" There was a far-off look to his face. "I'd hate to see all that talent and potential go to waste."

That got Sango to snap out of her brief reverie. "So what?" she demanded. "I'm supposed to be his babysitter now? Keep him out of trouble to save that valuable 'talent' of his?"

"If you want to put it that bluntly, yes."

Sango spluttered. "I am not a babysitter, least of all to people like  _him!"_ she hissed emphatically.

"Well, sometimes running a station and directing a squadron of officers is a lot like babysitting." Shako stood up and walked over to the door; if there was a clearer indication of him ending the conversation, Sango would be hard-pressed to find it. "People make mistakes. They get confused, lost, or don't know what to do…and they need a competent adult to help them find their way again."

"Thanks for the compliment," her words positively dripped with sarcasm.

"Well, I say it because it's true!" The smile was back on his face, all warmth and grandfatherly charm again, as though he hadn't made an emotional appeal to her just a few minutes ago. "And that's why I chose you for the job, Sango: because I know you can do it."

Though the door closed with a quiet click, to Sango it felt as though it had been slammed right in her face. She sank gracelessly onto a nearby chair, threw her head back, and groaned loudly.

_Thanks a lot for nothing._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the CSI team heads out to investigate the seedy back alleys of Hell's Kitchen!
> 
> (I kid, but I do love Laurence Fishburn in that series)
> 
> I once again apologise for any inconsistencies in procedural work; I'm a writer, not a detective ;)


	5. The Orphanage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give a shoutout to my amazing beta sassybrat9791, who is currently in the process of moving to a lovely new home! Best wishes!

 

 

 

Mitama House was founded by a warrior-monk named Goryōmaru roughly some 460 years ago in what used to be Mikawa prefecture. He picked up children—orphaned by war, famine, disease, or some sad combination—and trained them as gyōja, formidable ascetics in their own right, in order to further the spread of the Ikkō-Ikki monks' school of Shin Buddhism throughout Japan. He even claimed to have made them into yōkai slayers.

Eventually tiring of the seemingly never ending cycle of conflict that was typical of the Warring States period, Goryōmaru closed his temple after the Battle of Azukizaka and relocated his wards to the outskirts of what was then the sleepy fishing village of Edo. Despite the man's relatively early death, his legacy continued through the children he saved: countless generations of orphans, as well as discarded children, dōwa, women pregnant with illegitimate babies, and runaways found refuge in Mitama House. After the War, the orphanage was reorganised to also become a rehabilitation shelter. Today, they worked closely with the government to help poor families stay clothed and fed, keep rough sleepers off the streets, and help the homeless find jobs and housing.

At least, that was from what the rather dated looking pamphlet said.

Sango squinted through the early morning rays at the building. It certainly looked like it was made in the Feudal era, with its temple architecture and vermillion colouring. Even with 20th century additions such as the intercom gate, Sango felt as though she'd stepped into a historical reenactment of some sort.

But there were some charming details too: a colourful, childishly painted sign on a bulletin board advertising adoption days; shabby but neatly labelled toy bins kept under the awning closest to the small playground; and a tall Sakaki tree that was undoubtedly as old as the complex stood next to a plaque that also looked as though it had been decorated by children.

In spite of herself, Sango smiled a little at the sight.

"Glad to have you here, officers," an elderly greeter wrapped in a white and lavender uniform unlocked the gate for them. "How can I be of service?"

"Good morning. We're here for the interviews like we agreed to on the phone with Morinaga-san," Sango replied politely.

"I apologise…Director Morinaga still has a lot of calls to attend to…but I'm sure he'll finish them straightaway once he's heard that you're here!"

"No worries," she reassured the old woman. "We have all day."

The greeter let them in and trailed nervously after them as the team made its way to the entrance. The rush of heat as she opened the main door for them was a lovely sensation after the snap of cold morning air they experienced on the way to the orphanage.

The interior was a welcome sight. Though visibly worn and aged, the place was suffused with warmth and cheer as adults said their goodbyes before leaving for work. Behind the wall separating the genkan from the rest of the complex, children's laughter could be heard, and the delicious scent of breakfast wafted over to the officers.

"Aw man," Oda whined. "I forgot to eat before heading out…"

The adults murmured cautious greetings to the police, bundling themselves against the October chill before exiting. The greeter led the team past the closed off dining area and a series of rooms before stopping at what were evidently the main offices. She bade them to wait as she knocked timidly on the door and poked her head in.

"Director," she said, "the police are here."

The response was muffled, but whatever was said was apparently enough as the old woman bowed in response and closed the door. "He'll be with you in a moment," she assured them. "Would anyone care for something to drink? Hot tea? Some cake?"

"Tea is fine." Sango spared a glance at Oda when his stomach growled a little too loudly at the mention of food.

"I'll be right back with it," the woman bowed to them and set off in the direction of the dining rooms.

It wasn't long after her departure that the office doors opened once again; a man, evidently an addict judging by the sores and pocks marking his face, clutched what looked to be a medical slip and was uttering a thousand thanks as he shuffled back in the direction of the entrance. A younger man wearing Mitama's white and lavender colours stepped out to say his goodbyes before he noticed the officers.

"Good morning—I admit that I was expecting you all a little later, but no matter. I am Morinaga Goro, Mitama's current director," he introduced himself.

"Inspector Tachibana Sango," she replied in kind. "I'm here with a team from East Shinjuku's eighth precinct to ask about an employee of yours."

"Higurashi-san," Morinaga sighed sadly. "Yes, as you've said on the phone…please, come in."

His office was at the back of a small anteroom that was divided into two other offices, and they all piled (more like squeezed) in as he took his seat behind a desk that looked as though it was bought before the Bubble crashed. Even his computer looked dated, which made quite the contrast with his modern looks; with his smart glasses, full lips and short, wavy hair, Sango thought back to the young male idols featured often on the front pages of supermarket tabloids and gossip websites.

Just as they managed to position themselves somewhat comfortably, the greeter was back with a steaming pot of tea and a chipped plate of freshly made onigiri.

"Thank you, Okawa-san," Morinaga nodded in the woman's direction as she bowed back and left. He graciously ignored Oda's incredible rudeness as the officer began to scarf down a rice ball and slurped his tea noisily.

"So," Sango took out a notepad and clicked her pen in anticipation. "Please tell us about Higurashi-san. How would you describe her?"

"A good, patient woman. She's a hard worker and is always so happy to be with the children, and was always ready to help everyone out here. She was—is very dedicated to her job, so I was very surprised when her husband called in sick for her."

"So this would be the first time she missed work?"

"Correct," Morinaga confirmed.

Sango tapped her pen thoughtfully before continuing her line of questioning. "Was she acting differently the day before she went missing? Anything odd in her conduct that stood out, or was otherwise out of character for her?"

"Not at all."

"So what happened to her…did it comes as a shock to you? Any reason to think that someone might have targeted her, or just an opportunist who happened to choose her home?" 

"I can't say for sure," Morinaga sighed again. "On one hand, the neighbourhood they live in…not to say it's unsafe, but it's just not a very well-maintained part of town. Her husband complains all the time about it whenever I see him. And, well, there have been increased reports of robberies in the city overall."

Sango took all that down diligently. "But on the other hand?"

Morinaga cracked a tiny, wistful smile. "I was told by Kaede-san that before Higurashi-san went off to university, she was quite the nosy girl."

Sango's pen stopped in its tracks.

Now that certainly sounded interesting…

"Higurashi-san was part of her high school's newspaper club, so I was told. It started off normally enough: covering school events, club activities, the cultural festival…until the year Higurashi joined, that is. She decided that wasn't enough."

Sango raised an eyebrow. "What isn't 'enough' about a school paper?"

"Apparently the school administration was looking the other way when it came to illicit activities being carried out on campus."

"What kind of activities?"

"A mix. It varied between bullying, taking money in exchange for test results, what you'd expect at a high school. However, harder things such as an affair between a teacher and a student as well as drug sales were also discovered."

Sango sucked in a small breath and expelled it slowly. Now that was certainly an unprecedented piece of news. "So she made enemies back then?"

"Most likely. I didn't hear much about that from Kaede-san, except that the administration eventually got the club banned." At this, Morinaga chuckled. "Not that it did much good; Higurashi-san just picked up a few classmates and continued it outside of the school. She was quite the little muckraker all right."

She pondered the statement very carefully. What Morinaga was essentially saying was that he had a reason to believe that Higurashi's past activities made her a target of angry people out for revenge. But who? And over what? What exactly did a high school student and a gaggle of teens manage to uncover that Morinaga was at least somewhat convinced that it played a part in her disappearance?

"Help me try to understand this," Sango said. "What you're telling us is that a group of teenagers somehow got involved in something serious?"

"Indeed." The director steepled his fingers and leaned in closer to the officers, almost as if sharing something confidential. "In fact, a fair amount of children were brought here thanks to her and her husband's efforts."

Oh? Sango spared a quick glance at her team, pleased to see that they were all hard at work by taking down notes of their meeting; Awara-san had even brought a tape recorder. "What do you mean by that? As in, the Higurashis rescued them, or—"

"Correct." At this, Morinaga stood, and, seeing their confused expressions, beckoned them to follow him outside.

By then the breakfast hour had finished and the dining area was being cleared out by staff and volunteers. They greeted the director and his impromptu entourage before getting back to work. Morinaga took them past a sitting area sparsely populated by a few elderly residents, dozing lightly in the couches, before continuing into a hallway overlooking the gardens.

"You're lucky you made the visit on a Sunday. The children mostly stick to the playground around this time, unless they don't have any prior engagements with friends or school." He checked on the scene of shrieking boys and girls and nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with what he saw. "I see that all of them are here, so I think that it's best you have the chance to ask them yourselves."

Opening the door to the outside momentarily flooded the hallway with brilliant morning light, blinding them all for a second; when the light subsided and their eyes adjusted, the team found itself in the playground.

Like the rest of the complex, it looked rather outdated and rough around the edges—no amount of paint or sanding could possibly hide the scratches on the metal slide or fix the way the jungle gym sagged into the earth. But the kids didn't seem to care much either way. They ran around with wild abandon. They passed balls, played hopscotch, and chased each other around the shrubbery under the watchful eyes of the staff and a few other adults.

It certainly didn't have the feel of an orphanage, Sango thought.

"I've already informed them of your visit," Morinaga added suddenly after a long pause. "But I cannot allow you to question them alone. A staff member or another adult must be present with them at all times." There was a subtle, but visible hardening to the fine wrinkles around his eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sango readily acquiesced.

"Good." The director then called out to the playground, his calm voice surprisingly loud enough to catch the attention of all those present. The mood changed from joyful and exuberant to sombre, hushed even, as the children gathered around them obediently.

"Hello, everyone. As you can see, we're all police officers," Sango announced carefully. "I'm Inspector Tachibana, and I'm here with a team from East Shinjuku's eighth precinct to ask you all some questions about Higurashi Kagome."

Whispering rippled through the throng, dying out almost as quickly as it started.

"Each of us will make sure to talk to everyone just so that we can make sure to be as thorough as possible before heading back. I hope we can cooperate to finish this case and find Higurashi-san as quickly as possible."

Director Morinaga and Sango assigned the officers to child-staff pairs and saw them off to any room nearby where they could carry out the interrogations in private: Oda, then Awara, and then Koharu with a set of twin boys who insisted on staying together. Finally, Sango herself turned to Morinaga to discuss who she would best be suited to question, until a sharp "hey!" grabbed her attention.

A skinny teen with messy orange hair, a green shirt too big for him, and patched jeans stood before them. "You're the one in charge, right?" he demanded.

Sango raised her eyebrow at such a forward attitude. "…Yes. My name is Tachibana Sango."

"I'm Shippō. I want you to interview me."

"Oh, well, no problem. I'll just have to see about who can—"

"I can supervise you two!"

The new voice belonged to one of the most unusual people Sango had ever seen in her short life. He couldn't have been less that three meters tall, with an elongated chin and a browline and nose that bulged forward from his face; his skin had a peculiar café-au-lait tint to it, which was not even mentioning the thick scars that criss-crossed his body, and his small, protuberant eyes were a very pale blue. Everything about his appearance reminded her of the monsters seen in the ancient scrolls housed in temples or museums, and he looked as though a giant or an oni had come to life from one of those and decided that it wanted to live in the modern world with normal people.

"You sure, Jinenji?" Shippo asked the newcomer.

Jinenji's smile was wide and gummy. "Yeah, I'm old enough. I think I can do it well, can't I, officer-san?"

Sango was so taken aback by his appearance that she was caught staring—Morinaga's subtle prodding brought her back to earth and she cleared her throat in an attempt to sound important and not like a person who just did something extremely unprofessional. "Well, I thank you for your helpful offer, but I was hoping that a sta—"

"I'll do it. They did say staff, boys."

The newest addition was a woman who looked ancient enough to be knocked over by a stray breeze, yet she carried herself just as well as a middle-aged lady in spite of her hunchback. She wore a very dusty apron over her uniform and a kerchief over her gray hair.

Jinenji reached for her hand. "Can I still come, ma?"

Wait, she's his mother?

"I don't see why not; unless the kind officer—" the woman's steely gaze made Sango feel acutely embarrassed "—says otherwise."

"O-oh no, it's fine," Sango stammered. "More testimonies means more help! I-I appreciate your cooperation with us."

Morinaga began leading them away from the main building's entrance. "I hope you don't mind using the gardening centre for your interrogation, Tachibana-san. Your colleagues have taken up all the other available spaces, I'm afraid, and I would rather not have our residents questioned in their private rooms."

The 'gardening centre' was really more of a glorified shed with a little porch out front and an awning; a few potted plants were displayed on the balustrade and a bird feeder hung from the roof.

"It's perfectly suitable for this. Thank you, Morinaga-san." She bowed slightly in thanks.

"If anyone needs anything, please, don't hesitate to call on us."

The four arranged themselves around a cramped metal garden table, trying very hard not to bump into the crates of fertiliser and seeds stacked all around them. Sango took out her notepad and clicked her pen in anticipation. "I know I've introduced myself before, but there's nothing wrong with a little clarification now and then; my name is Tachibana Sango, and I'm an inspector leading this team from East Shinjuku's eighth precinct."

The teen raised his hand high in the air. "I'm Shippō."

"Just 'Shippō-kun?'"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "My parents were Himura…but I prefer not to be called by it if I can."

"…I see," Sango replied cautiously. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Tsuchida Kaho," the old woman said. "And this is my son, Jinenji." She jabbed a bony thumb in his direction. He smiled and waved shyly.

"Thank you. Now that introductions are over with—please tell me what you know about Higurashi Kagome."

"He didn't do it," Shippō interrupted.

Sango swallowed. The boy was giving her an intense, single-minded staredown. "I…pardon?"

"Let's just start from the beginning, Shippō-kun," Tsuchida chided him gently, in that rough, weathered voice of hers. "We can get to that later."

The three shared a glance between themselves, and Sango wondered.

"You came to know Higurashi-san through her working here?" Sango finally asked after a prolonged silence.

"No," Shippō shook his head. "I knew her and Inuyasha since way before—she was still in high school, and I was still a kid! I was eight when I first met them."

"I'm Kagome's age, actually," Jinenji added. "I met her when we were both 15."

The lack of honorifics was an interesting detail that Sango added to her notes as she dutifully took down their statements. When she finished, she nodded at them, prompting them to continue.

"Inuyasha and Kagome—" Shippo abruptly fell silent; the subject was an apparently hard one to broach, as Sango saw him fighting back tears.

"Take all the time you need," she said reassuringly. In spite of his attempts to look steely and composed in front of her, he wore his closeness to the pair on his sleeve, and Sango's heart ached for the poor boy.

"You want me to go first, Shippō-kun?" Jinenji placed an enormous hand on his shoulder.

Shippō sniffled hard and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He opened his mouth to reply, and then decided against it in order to fully compose himself.

"Ain't no shame in waitin' your turn," Tsuchida added her hand to Jinenji's.

"…Ok," Shippō accepted.

"We met Kagome-chan and that lunkhead of a husband when they were out travelling the sticks," Tsuchida said. "We used to live in this backwater dump of a village before they convinced us to move to Tokyo some two years ago; haven't looked back since! Good riddance!"

The bitterness in the woman's tone surprised Sango. "What were the circumstances behind your meeting?"

"Said they were looking for a scoop. Some brainless idiot told them a murderer was out prowling the fields and had those poor, simple farmfolk locked up in their homes at night. Of course, once they got there, the neighbours dropped the innocent act real quick and immediately told them my Jinenji was to blame."

Jinenji was definitely not a pretty sight to look at, what with his intimidating stature and his facial deformities. And though Sango was ashamed to admit his looks frightened her, there was really nothing about him that pointed to a violent and aggressive personality: his behaviour so far had been nothing but patient and kind to Shippō and friendly to her. The young man had gone very quiet in his chair and was looking to the side as he twiddled his thumbs nervously.

"So there were killings—" Sango began.

"Two women died," Tsuchida interrupted. "Violently. Both were found torn to shreds in the woods; nevermind that we lived nowhere near where they were found, and it would've taken us at least half a day to get to where the bodies were, but it didn't matter to those folks—they already decided that Jinenji was the culprit."

"Was it because they were afraid of his looks?"

"Oh, it went deeper than that," Tsuchida muttered darkly. "His looks just confirmed their biases."

Jinenji began to curl in on himself and held his upper arms as though suddenly cold.

"I'm dōwa," his mother's admission was frank and matter-of-fact. "Been treated like a walking piece of shit since I can remember; the other villagers hated us and said we weren't allowed in 'their' part of town or else we would contaminate it. When I was younger I kinda agreed with them, since my old man worked leather and had the most awful smell hangin' around him constantly." She sighed deeply. "I was always so embarrassed in front of the other girls growing up. But then I got older and wisened up, and I learned to stop hatin' myself because I wasn't the problem: they were."

Sango was stunned. This woman was basically laying out her life story to her in what was supposed to be a simple interrogatory session—instead, she was hearing this awful tale of discrimination and hardship.

Just what exactly were the Higurashis involved in?

"I met Jinenji's father right after I finished high school," Tsuchida continued. A misty look suddenly came over her eyes. "I was picking herbs up on the mountainside but I twisted my ankle and fell. I was stuck there for hours…when night came, I thought I was a goner for sure. But a miracle happened, and he found me!"

"Ma—" Jinenji's distress suddenly became acute embarrassment.

"He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen!" she ignored him, sighing rapturously. The sudden swing in mood from dark and pessimistic to utterly ecstatic threw Sango for a loop. "He looked like one of those idols and actors in the magazines the girls brought back from the city, but even more handsome. He was so kind and gentle…said he was studying medicine at Tokyo University and came to our dinky little village as part of his social service assignment. He treated my ankle right then and there and carried me all the way down the mountain back to my house, just like a prince rescuing his princess!"

Jinenji covered his face with his giant hands and groaned. In spite of his display of being ashamed of his mother's reminiscing, he peeked at her through his fingers with a smile.

"I got pregnant almost immediately," Tsuchida beamed. "He said he was gonna take us back to the city with him, where we'd all live happily ever after. Even though medicine is a hard career, he said we'd be taken care of because his family was rich, and we married soon after I told him we were gonna have a baby. Even the other villagers stopped bullying us." She sighed again; this time, there was no happiness in it. Only deep pain. "We were happy. For a while."

"What happened? Sango prompted gently.

Tsuchida shrugged helplessly. "He died."

"…How?"

Tsuchida shook her head sadly. "He was off on this medical conference in Spain the university organised for the top students in his year. He wanted to stay with me since I was real close to giving birth, but I could tell how badly he wanted to go, so I told him to have fun and—and bring back a present for our baby." Her breath quavered. "I'd never been outside the country before and asked him to take lots of pictures for us both."

Jinenji reached out to his mother and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"It was a car crash. I was told he died immediately and that the driver responsible was drunk," she sniffed. "But that's as much as I got outta them," she resumed the dark tone she had at the beginning of the conversation.

"From who? When they informed you of his death?"

Tsuchida's laugh was loud, short, and extremely caustic. "No one from the government came to tell me, even though we went to the registry to put his name down as the father's before he left. It was through his bitch of a mother."

Sango had a sudden flashback to her paternal grandmother's rants about the criminal cases they saw being broadcasted on the TV, or when her son—Sango's father—discussed his work with them at the dinner table.

"Said she was ashamed that her son chose a low-life piece of trash like me," she spat, "and that I was a stain on the family name. I dunno what kind of strings she pulled, but that bitch had the registry in her hands and burned it in my face." Tsuchida's face was torn between a mix of deep loathing, pain, and anger. "Said she was gonna fix his mistake and keep my name as far away from her family's as possible so I wouldn't dirty it. And she made sure that not a single cent of his insurance went to us, because she said my half-breed son would only taint their reputation."

Fat, silent tears began rolling down Jinenji's face. Shippō immediately produced a packet of tissue paper from his pocket and offered them to him, which he accepted gratefully.

"After Jinenji was born," Tsuchida sighed a long-suffering sigh, "everyone decided that we deserved it. That because of who we are, it was only natural that we had it coming. That we were tainted to begin with." She fell silent before resuming her train of thought. "Didn't matter that I moved us all to the damn edge of the village after my old man died—they came by, every day, without fail, to throw rocks and insults at us."

Sango glanced at Jinenji's scars with a pang. "And that's how you met the Higurashis?"

"Yeah. Inuyasha-san was ready and raring for a fight since their trip all the way from Tokyo didn't go so well and it put 'im in a right foul mood, but he lost it quick once he saw how harmless my Jinenji is."

"Ma brained him over the head with a log when she saw him yelling at me," Jinenji said. Shippō snorted.

"Kagome-chan was lovely right from the start though; she talked to us real nice and even helped me make some tea and stayed with Jinenji as he tended to the field for the day. We asked her to stay the night while Inuyasha-san went back down to the village to yell at 'em for telling lies about us."

Jinenji blushed a pretty, subtle red. "Kagome wasn't scared of me when she saw me…it was the first time anyone talked to me so nicely. She was more afraid of the worms in the field than she was of my ugly face…"

"Only bad people are truly ugly," his mother reassured him.

"Ah, wait a moment," Sango stopped her rapid-fire note taking. "You mentioned that they came due to hearing about some murders that had taken place there and the villagers were blaming Jinenji for. What exactly happened about that?"

Jinenji made a small noise at the back of his throat. "Turns out…someone from another village at the edge of the forest was illegally breeding dogs for fighting…she let them out often to hunt animals in the woods. And they killed the women who went there to pick mushrooms. They were so violent they tore out their guts to eat…"

Sango gulped. "And how did you find out?"

"They came at night to attack us," Jinenji explained, shuddering at the memory.

"But you were so brave, son!" his mother crowed. "He fought them right off like they were nothing!"

"But they were something, ma! They bit me real bad! Kagome was in danger because of them!"

"He saved her," Tsuchida said, very proudly. "Grabbed one of the little bastards by the neck and BAM!" She made a tearing motion with her hands.

"Inuyasha followed the trail the dogs made since he got there, though. Ma said he's like a dog himself 'cause he's good at following a scent."

Shippō giggled at that. "That's not the only way he's like a dog, though."

"Aw, be nice, Shippō-kun," Jinenji frowned.

"I am, I am!" the teen laughed, his tears forgotten.

"Anyways," Jinenji went back to the topic. "They didn't have any collars on them or anything that said where they were from, but Inuyasha found out somehow and went right to the lady's doorstep to tell her off! I'm pretty sure she went to jail over it and had to pay a big fine for what those dogs did."

"We stuck around a while after the whole saga, since the villagers saw we weren't the real culprits. But they went right back to their old ways after they decided that they liked being nasty, so we left," Tsuchida said. "Kagome-chan got me a job here and we've been here ever since."

Sango finished her notes and leaned back into her chair, steepling her fingers. She didn't ask for their life story, but then again, she couldn't complain; it certainly provided a lot of information about the Higurashis' lives prior to their unfortunate circumstances.

Not to mention it told her more about what Morinaga meant by nosiness…

"Would you like to go next, Shippō-kun?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he replied, a bit more steadily than before. "I'm ready now."

"Take all the time you need," Sango reassured.

"I was eight when I first met them," Shippō began. "My parents moved here from Kyoto and then I was born; they managed a shrine to Inari before they were murdered."

Sango's pen stopped with an abrupt, ugly scratch against her notepad. "They—"

"The Thunder Brothers did it."

She remembered the late-night broadcasts she saw on the news: the fear in her grandmother's tremulous voice as she reminded them to be home before six, to give away any valuables they might be carrying and not make a fuss if they came across the deadly duo. The gossip in her last year of high school when it was reported that both brothers had died in a gas explosion during another one of their attempted robberies; the shame brought upon their rich and high-profile father when it was discovered he let his sons run amuk without a single care over the victims they racked up during their short-lived spree.

"Wait…you're saying that they were involved in the Thunder Brothers' case?"

"Inuyasha and Kagome were the ones who brought them down."

Sango shook her head vehemently. "That's not possible—I saw the report on TV. I would've remembered them being mentioned—"

Shippō scoffed. "They were the ones who followed them and got those two bastards to blow themselves up in the warehouse. They were the ones who made the call to the police; I was there with them. I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Wait a moment," Sango held her hand up, trying to process this stunning new piece of information. "How did you say you met them again?"

"The Thunder Brothers burned my family's temple down in retaliation for my dad trying to report them for stealing some shrine treasures when they visited. I didn't have any family except for them and the Thunder Brothers threatened to kill me too if I called the police, so I was left living on the streets for a while," Shippō explained.

The poor thing, Sango thought.

"I was so hungry that I decided that stealing to eat would be better than starving in an alley somewhere, and well," he shrugged sheepishly, "Kagome was my first and only victim. I tried to take her backpack when she and Inuyasha were having a picnic in the park."

"And how did that work out for you?"

"Badly. Inuyasha gave me a lump on my head that took weeks to disappear. I pissed him off right off the bat."

Sango rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "And how did such a…poor first impression somehow turn into them finding the Thunder Brothers?"

"Kagome wanted to help me—it's what she does. They had a big fight over it, but she got to him in the end and they decided it would be their next big scoop. They spent like two weeks trailing the bastards, but it wasn't very hard to find them, in the end." Shippō clenched his fist hard. "They always did like to brag and they left a pretty obvious trail."

If that was the case, then why didn't the police catch them sooner? The thought troubled Sango.

"After that," Shippō continued, "I lived with Kagome for a while before they brought me here. They visited every single day, and then Kagome got a job here."

Sango finished recording his testimony almost as soon as he stopped talking, and set her pen down with a soft sigh. So all three of them had a close relationship with the Higurashis and had known them for some time now, to which Sango could presume that they had intimate knowledge on the couple, what their relationship was like…and who might be the one responsible for the violence enacted against them.

But how to go about it in a way that wasn't so blunt? Shippō had been immediately defensive of the husband as soon as she'd shut the door behind them.

Could that point to something…unsavoury about the man?

Sango picked up her pen again. "So," she said as casually as she could. "I can see that you're all very close to the Higurashi family. That's good—it means we can gather a lot more information on the case."

"Let's cut the crap, officer: he didn't do it."

There was a fire to Shippō's words that took Sango aback, a vehemence that spoke of a maturity far beyond his years. She set her pen down and leaned forward, choosing her words very, very carefully. "I didn't come here to make accusations, Shippō-kun. This is just the first part of the investigation and it's still too early to tell whether we've got a suspect or not. But please, by all means, tell me your reasons. Tell me if there's anyone we should be looking out for. And, not to sound rude, but a lot of cases point to the husband being the culprit, so I also need to know why we shouldn't be looking into him too."

"They made a lot of enemies with their work," Shippō replied immediately. "The Thunder Brothers have a sister who swore revenge for them. The Birds of Paradise gang still have members out on the streets. Sasakagami no Yura—"

"You're going to have to slow down so I can list all of that," Sango tried to jot down more notes as fast as she could.

"Gimme your email so I can make a better list for you," Shippō said blithely. "The point is that I know a lot of people who have plenty of reasons to hurt Kagome. I'll admit that Inuyasha is an asshole and a jerk, but he would never, ever do this."

Sango checked her wristwatch surreptitiously. It showed that their questioning was almost coming to a close, but with so much more that they obviously wanted to say, Sango was feeling pressed for time. "Let's swap emails then," she accepted, quickly writing down the station's address and passing the notepad to Shippō. "But please, elaborate: why doesn't he have any reasons for this? And why are you so afraid of us investigating him?"

Shippō became very, very quiet. Jinenji squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. Sango was hoping, waiting for an answer before the clock ran out on them, and it would mean leaving without a satisfactory answer.

"Because," Shippō finally said, "he's run into a lot of trouble with the law before. We've had our bad days together, but I care for him, okay? I don't want to see him get hurt." He stopped to wipe a tear from his eye. "And even though he and Kagome have had their rough moments, they really do love each other too much for me to think this could be his fault."

Sango's watch beeped loudly, signalling the end of their questioning and time for her and her team to pack up their results and head back to the precinct. She gathered up her notes and stood up, her metal chair skidding back with an awful, metallic shriek. "Thank you, everyone, for cooperating with us today." She waited patiently for Shippō, Jinenji, and his mother to stand up and leave the gardening shed before her. Once outside, she took the time to shake their hands in thanks. "We'll be back again to continue our investigation, but what we've gotten so far is a great help to our work. It'll really help us get through this much faster and catch the culprit soon."

"Thanks, officer-san," Jinenji sniffled. "Please bring back Kagome safe and sound to us."

"I promise."

The Tsuchidas having excused themselves, Sango was just about ready to head back to Morinaga's office to reconvene with the rest of her team, but was stopped at the last second by Shippō seizing the back of her shirt.

"Please give me your number too?" he asked, subdued.

Sango blinked, utterly perplexed, but was able to pull herself back together. "I can only give you the precinct's number—personal cell phone communication is strictly off limits, especially in cases like this." Nonetheless, she held her hand out to receive his phone (a rather nice smartphone model, she mused with a touch of envy) and dutifully punched in the number before giving it back to him.

"That's okay. I just need to know that I have some way to call you. I need to know how the case goes."

"We can give you the basics, Shippō-kun, but I'm afraid that a lot of details will be confidential and we aren't free to share them with the public."

"Alright…"

She gave him a brief, polite bow and started off back into the house's interior. She was stopped in her tracks again by Shippō calling out to her.

"Officer!" he yelled.

"Yes?" she was becoming a bit anxious to return to her team with her results. What else could Shippō possibly have to say?

The fire was back in his eyes again, only this time, there was something akin to aggression: something positively furious that shocked Sango to her core.

"I hope you catch the bastard and make them pay for what they've done."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (thanks to wikipedia lol)
> 
> For those wondering:
> 
> The Battle of Azukizaka took place in 1564 and was a conflict between the Ikkō-ikki and their allies (farmers, peasants, and some samurai) against Tokugawa Ieyasu's forces and retaliating against the samurai for taxing temples; the official cause of the battle is said to be due to a Matsudaira retainer confiscating the rice of Jōgū-ji Temple to feed his men. The Ikkō-ikki themselves were an offshoot from the Buddhist monks of the Jōdo Shinsū sect of Pure Land Buddhism (today the largest branch of Buddhism practiced in Japan, popularised through the doctrine of everyone being eligible for salvation and through the armed conflict of the Sengoku period), Shintō priests, and other low-class peoples who rose up against the daimyō.
> 
> Poverty is a difficult subject in Japan because the government is very reluctant to admit they even have more than a few homeless and poor people who depend on government assistance to get by; it's said that the official reports on the subject are downplaying the recorded amount of people. It contradicts the image of Cool Japan that is exported to the rest of the world and many rough sleepers often depend on the good will of volunteers to help them. A good point of reference for people new to the subject would be the videos by the Youtuber MyLifeinJapan, where he interviews homeless people, shelter volunteers, and even a university professor for his scoop. I will be sure to add more information on this in the future.
> 
> As for the dōwa…they are the closest thing that Japan had to an "untouchable caste." If peasants and farmers were low, then the collection of grave and ditch diggers, tanners, executioners, butchers, and any one else deemed to be "tainted" by dirtiness and death was lowlier and grouped into this term. "Dōwa" is the polite term for them (assimilated) as opposed to the far more offensive "burakumin" (hamlet people) and the even worse "eta" (an abundance of filth). Dōwa were the ony peoples denied social mobility in the history of Japan due to their birth, unlike others who could buy their way in to the upper classes through striking it rich, marriage, or distinguishing themselves in battle; dōwa were segregated into specific living areas and were forbidden to leave them, and today many places in Japan are still associated with them. Coming into contact with a dōwa individual was taboo and necessitated ritual purification to cleanse the "victim." They were seen as so worthless that they were declared to have 1/7 of the worth of a normal person and samurai were permitted to murder them with no consequences. As an added note, it was alleged that the dōwa were one of the biggest supporters of the Ikkō-ikki revolt, as the Jōdo Shinsū was the only Buddhist sect that didn't shun them. Many dōwa became tied to the yakuza as a way to get by in life; this issue will also be discussed in later chapters.
> 
> Though the caste system was officially abolished during the Meiji Restoration, "dōwa mondai" (assimilation issues) continued to be of concern well into the 20th century. It used to be legal for families, individuals, and companies to look into the backgrounds of potential employees, suitors, and even neighbours to check that they weren't dōwa-a controversial book that circulated in 1975 listing places of dōwa majority had to be officially investigated by the government. Several human rights and social progress groups sprang up to campaign for dōwa rights in the 20s, 60s, and 70s. In 2001, politician Tarō Asō objected to the nomination of Hiromu Nonaka for the post of prime minister, saying "we are not going to let someone from the buraku become prime minister, are we?" Nonaka subsequently withdrew from the race. Asō lost to Jun'ichirō Koizumi but became prime minister later anyways and cultivated a long career of racist, classist, xenophobic and ableist statements during his time in and out of office.
> 
> And though "dōwa mondai" were said to be "officially resolved" in 2004, it is noted that discrimination of them is still concentrated around the Kansai area.
> 
> And that's not even getting into Japan's issues with other minorities.
> 
> Next time: Miroku's team visits a certain family shrine to gather intel…maybe they won't like what they find…


	6. The Shrine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though, in terms of character, Sango is my fave, Miroku's chapter was a lot more fun to write! I think it has to do more with the location at the moment though, haha.
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful Sassybratt9791 and her superior grasp on the English language (RIP high school classes lol). Please send her a review or two her way for her equally wonderful fics!

 

 

 

Miroku hadn't set foot in shrine grounds of any kind in ages—not for New Year's, not for Hanami, not even for his cousin's wedding. He thought that time heals all, but even so, the pain was a dull weight in his heart as he slammed the car door shut and made his way up the stone stairs.

Higurashi shrine was located in a curious position. Found right at the intersection of Ueno train station and Ueno Park's entrance, Miroku would've thought that he'd stepped into some secret forest temple given the amount of lush greenery threatening to spill onto the steps and brushing up close to the tops of the torii gates. From what he was able to check on his phone before heading out, it was just a short walk away from major sites such as the zoo, Tokyo University, and Tōshō-gū Shrine; prime cultural real estate. However, the fact that a large population of rough sleepers and homeless vagrants lived in the park and around the ponds dotting the area was enough to make more than a few nervous.

Crossing the final torii at the top of the stairs, Miroku surveyed the grounds with a detached eye. It was a rather spacious area: a smaller set of steps led up to a fenced, raised platform that housed the shrine complex; the leftwards portion held most of the shrine's buildings in a close clutch. The temizuya was backed right up against the fencing, and perpendicular to it lay a small haiden and the heiden running through it and linking it to the shamusho. The office, unlike the rest of the buildings in the complex, had an indigo gabled roof rather than a green one, and a glass door and window as well—a sign board announcing the sale of souvenirs and other trinkets was laid up by the door's side. The shrine's honden rose from behind the haiden, easily distinguished by the forked chigi at each end of the roof. A smaller adjacent building was also visible, but Miroku couldn't quite place what part it played in the shrine's workings.

A large courtyard separated a smaller structure, also featuring an indigo roof, from the rest of the buildings in the complex. It seemed rather shabby in comparison, and of an older style as well, but if the stone lanterns and the modest pair of massha that seemed to be guarding it were any indication, it too was of importance in the history of the shrine.

Finally, there was the tree. Like any self-respecting shrine of certain age, it was in possession of a venerable old tree whose sanctity was made obvious by the shimenawa rope wrapped around its trunk as well as the fencing separating it from the pavement. A wooden plaque—no doubt explaining the history of the tree and the kami it might be housing—stood next to it, but it was the deep notch gouged out from the trunk's wood that caught Miroku's eye. It seemed like a wound, almost.

Something about it struck a deep sense of sadness into him.

"Heeeeeeey!" a female voice rang out from behind.

Startled by the shout, Miroku turned to see his team panting and wheezing their way up the stairs; he was so absorbed with his self-pity that he'd completely forgotten about them all.

"I-Ishida-san," Takeda gasped when he finally made it to the top. "You c-certainly seemed to be in a h-hurry."

"Ah. My apologies. I don't know what came over me," Miroku said vaguely.

"I'll say!" That was Kuwatani, the source of the shouting. She was helping Kai, pulling her up since the steep pitch of the hillside the steps were built on had taken its toll on the frailer woman. In spite of the fine wet sheen highlighting the curve of her brow, Kuwatani had a broad smile on her face, and her words had a laughing lilt to them. "You made it up here in record time without breaking a sweat! You don't look tired at all! What's your secret? I'd love to know."

Well. Her female colleagues back at the precinct had given him a rather frosty welcome the day before, but Kuwatani—she seemed rather amenable to his presence. Whether it was because she wasn't part of their social circle and thus not privy to their gossip about him, or was in on it and simply didn't care, Miroku did not know…but he certainly wasn't complaining. Forcing the heaviness out of his heart and lifting the side of his mouth in what he knew was a winningly crooked smile, Miroku chuckled. "I've always made it a point to stay in shape, but I'd be happy to have a gym partner to spot me. It gets a little lonely sometimes."

"Ah, wait." Kai, who was previously holding herself up on her knees and rendered speechless by her panting, now stood at full attention to signal to beyond the fencing. "Someone's coming."

The teenager was wearing a soccer sweat suit typical of a high school student, but the bright pink sneakers were something that Miroku wasn't quite expecting—youth fashion these days, he reasoned. He suddenly felt old.

"You must be the police." The kid phrased it more as a statement than a question.

Takeda nodded and extracted his badge and ID from the lining of his smart blazer, letting the younger male inspect them carefully before returning them. "My name is Takeda Kuranosuke and we're here from Shinjuku's eighth precinct." He bowed politely.

"Ishida Miroku. I'm heading this team for today's interrogations." Miroku was peeved that Takeda had taken the initiative and presented himself first; it's not as though it was a huge deal to him, but Miroku would have preferred to establish his role in the investigation early on.

"Oh, if we're doing introductions, I guess it's our turn!" Kuwatani smiled cheerfully. "I'm Kuwatani Shima."

Kai's bow was impeccably straight, an obvious product of years of good breeding. "Kai Tsuyu. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I'm Sōta," the teen replied. "We were all expecting you just about now, so I'll take you over to the house." Without further ado, he turned on his heel and began walking towards the office at a brisk pace.

"Um…okay?" Kuwatani blinked at the abruptness of the exchange.

"Poor boy," Kai sighed. "He must be feeling so stressed over what happened to his sister…that's probably it."

They followed Sōta as he slid open the door to the shamusho and he stood aside to let them all pass. They waited patiently as he fished a set of keys out from his pockets—the keychain, with a carefully polished jewel hanging from the chain, caught Miroku's eye. The gift shop they were passing through had a display selling more of those, and he saw that they were a pinkish sort of amethyst.

Sōta repeated the process of locking the door behind them as they took a back exit out of the building. They were now in the shrine's inner complex, with the honden's roof shading them from the increasingly stronger rays of the morning sun. Sōta continued on his way with nary a single word, not even a sound, directed at any of them, which was somewhat unnerving to Miroku; he was very much accustomed to small talk, as it let him gather clues that let him get ahold over what sort of people he was dealing with. Silence was as big an indicator of personality as chattiness was, but he was very much the small talk type.

They were now approaching another section of fencing, with two torii on either side (making for a total of four, Miroku noted to himself) to separate the shrine from the house just beyond the fencing. It was a quaint, two storey building with whitewashed walls, blue-green tiled roofing, and green shutters on the windows. One of the rooms on the second floor had a modestly sized balcony all to itself; he guessed that it was most likely the main bedroom.

Miroku would have very much liked to have grown up in a house like that.

"They're here," Sōta announced to the air as they entered the house and began taking their shoes off in the genkan. He turned to the team. "Would anyone like something?"

"Tea is fine, thanks." Miroku made sure to beat Takeda to the punch this time.

"I'll go tell my mother and she'll make some," Sōta mumbled. For the first time since meeting, Miroku took a good, hard look at him. Though the kid sort of hid his face by glancing off to a side at a slight angle, preventing a full view of his face, Miroku could discern a tell-tale puffiness and redness around his eyes.

He looked so very, very tired.

"Ah, Sōta," a woman's voice called from within the house. Its owner emerged just a few seconds later: though middle-aged, she was still an undeniable beauty, and had attractive features such as exotic, wavy hair styled into a fashionable bob, and a finely boned face. Miroku's ears turned warm as he immediately began planning the best way to charm the lady of the house. "Thank you for fetching them," she said, touching her son's shoulder gently.

"They said they'd like some tea," he responded dully.

"Alright. I'll put the kettle on for us."

"Hmmm. I'll be down soon for it." Sōta reached for her hand in a brief squeeze, and then dropped it as he left the party and began climbing the stairs to the second floor. His steps had a heavy, sluggish cadence to them.

Mrs. Higurashi sighed. "He was up all night talking to his grandfather on the phone. He came back this week from the hospital—because of a urinary infection—but the stress over what…what happened to Kagome…gave him a heart attack once we got the news. So back to the hospital he went."

Miroku's plans fizzled out in his brain immediately. While he could never deny that he was very much a ladies' man, it would be in terribly poor taste to try and put the moves on Mrs. Higurashi while the family was grieving for their missing daughter. His charms would have to wait.

Takeda, looking terribly concerned, placed his hand right over his heart. "We're all very sorry to hear that, Higurashi-san."

"And we thank you for it," Higurashi replied with a wan smile. "You're here to help us, and we're very grateful for it. Please, come in—I'll have the tea ready for you all in just a moment."

 _God dammit,_  Miroku gave Takeda the stink-eye in his thoughts as they were led to a traditional five-tatami living room and seated around the chabudai whilst Mrs. Higurashi went to prepare the tea.  _Why's he acting like the team leader? That's literally_ my _job. I'm supposed to be the one giving condolences here._

The team began preparing themselves for the questioning as their host busied herself in the kitchen, unzipping their bags open for the necessary tools: recorders, pens, pencils, and notepads. As some of their utensils were not the standard police-issued office supplies, Miroku could get a basic grasp on their personalities from them. He began taking mental notes on the subject:

Kuwatani—standard-issue briefcase, but with a few Pokémon keychains hanging from the straps. Kurutoga mechanical pencil and erasable ballpoint pen from the Pokémon Skytree Center. Matching Pokémon-themed notepad which was somewhat scrunched up from being carelessly tossed into her bag rather than being carefully placed inside, no doubt. Somewhat scatterbrained and childish, but ultimately fun-loving.

Kai—standard precinct briefcase and notepad, but her pens were of a pretty floral variety; not terribly expensive looking, but certainly gave off an air as though she went out of her way to buy them somewhere nice. Sony audio recorder in a sleek silver and white presentation. She came off as sensible, if a little boring, with tastes leaning towards the softly feminine.

Takeda—now this example ticked Miroku off. His pens were these slick, pricey looking fountain pens with silver caps, and though his notepad was, like Kai's, issued from the precinct, it was housed in a snug black leather case with a built-in pen holster. His bag was of the same buttery black leather and came with a tag like those made for luggage. The guy even brought an iPad with him, with a custom made case for it featuring the same damned leather. Miroku would've thought an important businessman was making a house call instead of a cop, and the display of such professional, fashionable looking wealth was deeply irritating. What the hell kind of salary did he have to be able to buy those kinds of things?

Miroku snuck a brief glance to his own items—all straight from the precinct supply office, and with a beat-up duffel bag to go with them. He wasn't quite sure what that said about him other than the fact that he was most definitely not rolling in cash like Takeda clearly was.

Mrs. Higurashi returned from the kitchen shortly after, bearing a lacquered tray with steaming cups of green tea. A small plate of cute, fox shaped cookies was placed in the centre of the table to go with their drinks, and Kuwatani exclaimed delightedly when she saw them.

"Please, go ahead. I do hope it's to your tastes."

"Thank you very much, Higurashi-san," Miroku bowed his head politely.

Mrs. Higurashi returned the nod and sat seiza as she watched the group set up their tools and occasionally partake of their snacks. She turned carefully to the shōji; Sōta opened it just a second later, barefoot, in fresh clothes, and rubbing a towel through his shower-dampened hair. The tiredness, however, was still present in his eyes.

"Alright," Mrs. Higurashi said as her son sat down next to her. "Shall we begin?"

"Of course." Takeda was just finishing unlocking his iPad and had opened the camera app to start recording the session. "However, protocol dictates that interrogations should be conducted separately—to avoid witnesses suggesting anything towards one another and to keep testimonies consistent."

"I would rather keep my son here with me."

Though her words were not unkind, there was stern firmness to Mrs. Higurashi's face that brooked no argument. A brief, tense silence blanketed the room as the team tried to figure out what to do without coming across as insensitive or, god forbid, rude.

"Then he can stay," Miroku seized the chance to reassert his authority. "I think protocol can be relaxed in circumstances like these."

Mrs. Higurashi said nothing, but inclined her head slightly in thanks—the gesture warmed Miroku's ears again. Takeda gave Miroku a questioning glance but stayed mercifully quiet as he pressed his iPad's screen to start recording. The team sat, poised with pens at the ready, waiting for the first question to fly.

Miroku noticed Takeda's mouth started to open, so he hurried to cut him off. "Could you tell us what everyone was doing the day of the incident?"

Fine lines wrinkled Mrs. Higurashi's brow as she contemplated her answer. "Well…it was a typical Friday, I suppose. Sōta was at school, I was doing housework, and Grandpa was at the office helping a couple of visitors. He…he was the first one to get the news, actually. He got a phone call from your station, I believe, and…well, it was a good thing he wasn't alone. The woman of the couple stayed with him while her husband came running to the house to get me. And from there we called an ambulance."

"I didn't find out until school finished," Sōta's voice was rough. "I was planning on taking a few friends home but ma picked me up in a cab and we went to the hospital."

Pens scratched swiftly against paper as the team jotted that all down. Takeda was clearly dying to go next, but the petty part of Miroku pushed him to move first again. "Was there anything unusual about your daughter's attitude the days before it happened? Anything strange or out of the ordinary with her and her husband?"

Mrs. Higurashi and Sōta exchanged a very brief, blink-and-you'll-miss-it look that had Miroku wondering. "Not anything that we can think of."

"We heard that they fought often. What did they fight over? Was there any indication of their conflicts having turned violent? Were tensions high over anything? How would you characterise their relationship?"

"No." Sōta frowned deeply and his knuckles turned white with how hard he was clenching his hand; he was offended, Miroku realised. His team seemed to have noticed it too, if the quick glances they shared were of any indication. "They'd fight over things like rent, work, or sometimes Inuyasha would complain about Kagome's cooking. Dumb things. But not anything serious. And their marriage is fine."

The naïveté behind those words was kind of sad, really. Rent and issues over money were always serious—one of the most common sources of marital discord, in his experience. And if not, even tiny things could just keep on piling up and gathering pressure until they spiralled out of control and turned into something huge and irrevocably damaging.

Nothing in their line of work was ever so simple.

"Did they say that they were having issues over anything else? Problems at work or something like that?"

"No. Inuyasha doesn't really like to talk about work in the first place because he says it's tiring and there's not much to it other than heavy lifting. Kagome though, she loved—loves her job. She talks about it all the time and sometimes she brings the kids over to spend the day at the park, the zoo, or just hang out here with us."

Miroku hummed to himself as he wrote that all down. "I understand that Kagome-san works as a sort of social worker at an orphanage?"

"I wouldn't call her a social worker. More like a caretaker. She makes their food for them, helps with homework, cleaning up the place, keeping track of medication for the ones who needs it…stuff like that."

Kuwatani tapped her pen thoughtfully against her lips, which had cookie crumbs scattered around as evidence of her lack of restraint. Then again…those cookies were pretty damn good. "I'm not understanding much, though. Kagome-san and Inuyasha-san work fairly standard jobs, live in a not-so-great-part of town, and seemed to have lived pretty average lives. And what happened to Kagome-san…it was violent. Too violent, even." She grabbed another cookie and thoughtlessly talked through her chewing. "It's not uncommon for break-ins to happen during the day, when most people are out at work, but what kind of criminal would fight a homeowner instead of taking the chance to run away? How desperate could they have been to stay behind and draw blood when they were found out?"

"Oh, that's a good point," Kai got that all down on her notepad. "And even then, their apartment is in a rather shabby part of the city, like you said. It's not as though it's uncommon knowledge. It seems a little odd that a thief would risk exposing themselves in broad daylight just for quick cash, and it's not as though they would've gotten much out of it anyways."

"And," Takeda added, "why would Higurashi-san disappear?"

Miroku shot his a not so subtle warning glare over their thoughtlessly indiscreet comments, and they looked appropriately sheepish, but the damage was already done: Sōta look down and away, brows pinched and hands clenched. His mother squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the analog clock on the wall as a million questions swirled through the air. Why  _indeed_. The thread the team was pursuing had yet to become untangled, frustratingly enough, and the current line of questioning hadn't done much to help. Why  _were_  the Higurashis targeted like that? Did some thug who was hard up for cash happen to choose their apartment at random? Did they stake the place out and conclude that theirs was the easiest to ransack?

None of that really answered why Higurashi Kagome was spirited away right from under her neighbours' noses.

Mrs. Higurashi sighed; the sound was heavy and forlorn, underscoring what was undoubtedly the deep pain she was feeling over her missing daughter. She spared a long glance at the analog clock on the wall before turning to the police with a thoughtful, yet determined set to her eyes.

"I think," she said slowly, "that now is the time for you all to take a look at this."

Sōta was the first to rise, and helped his mother up from her uncomfortable position. The two waited patiently as the team realised they were expected to follow them, and they left the sitting room in single file to head up to the second floor.

Miroku spared a glance to the washing machine and dryer outside of what was most likely the bathroom as the group walked down the hallway. The doors were all Western-style with knobs instead of traditional shōji screens; Mrs. Higurashi opened the middle door to reveal her daughter's bedroom.

It was cute, in a rather typical teenage girl way: the five tatami room had Western furniture such as a raised bed, a wheeled chair to sit on while studying at the desk, a toy chest full of stuffed animals, and a vanity with a small pouf seat. The room's colours were also very feminine, featuring varying shades of lavender, pink, and white, with the exception of the glaringly orange pocket organiser hanging from one of the curtains and the green tatami. Even the doorknob was pink, in the form of a soft felt cap covering it—most likely to keep it clean or something of the sort.

"Kagome stored all her work here," Mrs. Higurashi told them as she padded over to the desk. "At first she had a laptop, but when things got too serious, she decided to keep it all on paper in case she needed to burn anything."

Kuwatani did a double take. "Wait—'things got too serious'?  _Burn_  things? Higurashi-san, just what the heck was your daughter up to?"

"Newspaper club," Mrs. Higurashi replied as she took out a series of fat binders, notebooks, and newspaper clipping albums from the desk's drawers.

It was then that Miroku noticed something peculiar about the room's decorations: while there were the usual band posters on a wall and framed pictures of family and friends on the desk and nightstand, the corkboards and whiteboard looked something more like from their office. The whiteboard had a hastily rubbed out timetable, now illegible, but the phone numbers written down were for places Miroku recognised as nearby photography and computer lesson businesses. The corkboard had pictures of Tokyo streets and buildings, along with pictures of men that looked as though they were screenshots; they were linked together with orange thread and had post-it notes under them as though they were paintings catalogued by a museum. Additionally, there were maps of Tokyo and Japan that had certain parts coloured in red, and with more of the little post-its dotting them.

Miroku pointed to them all. "You mind if we take a closer look at these?"

Mrs. Higurashi only glanced briefly back at him. "Not at all. In fact…I think you'd want to take this all with you."

Kai and Kuwatani shared a troubled look, and the former excused herself to go fetch some latex gloves she'd brought in her bag. She came back soon enough and distributed the gloves to the team, and the little room was full of the sound of latex snapping on skin before they got to collecting what was now a sizeable pile of evidence.

"Higurashi-san," Takeda ventured cautiously. "When you said your daughter was in the newspaper club…what did you mean by it? All of this doesn't look like regular reporting on cultural festivals or anything even remotely school related."

It was then that Sōta, who'd been waiting outside in the hall, came in. Though he still looked tired, there was a determined set to his jaw.

"She joined the club at first because couldn't find any that were as interesting to her as archery, and she thought that she'd quit it at first." He swallowed thickly. "But she changed her mind when she saw that the school wasn't doing much to solve a lot of its problems. So she said that if they weren't, then she'd shame them into fixing them."

"What kind of problems?"

"At first, it started off with things like the school turning a blind eye to things like…like bullying." Sōta bit his lip. "Then Kagome found out about other things like a teacher selling test sheets, and another one in a relationship with a student."

Miroku sucked in a breath. Bullying was one thing—all schools had to deal it with it one way or another—but those other two incidents were certainly enough to at least make the local news. Scandals like teachers fooling around with their students and making money off of selling the answers to exams would have surely put more than a few administrators' heads on the chopping block to save face. "But how did she go from reporting on the school's dirty laundry to—to whatever this is?" he gestured to the binders and notebooks.

"She was threatened with expulsion and having the club disbanded if she continued her reporting."

Everyone in the room turned to look at Mrs. Higurashi. Her finely wrinkled eyes had turned resolute, yet sadly soft. She held out the pile of binders to the police with a firmness that belied her sadness to part with her daughter's hard-collected notes and pictures and handwriting—her daughter in essence, now that she had been taken from her family. "They were more concerned with not rocking the boat and staying out of the news. I don't even think they really cared about what was going on as long as it stayed inside the school." Mrs. Higurashi delicately wiped the sides of her eyes, and her son went to her to hold her arm reassuringly. "And…Kagome said she wouldn't give up. That she couldn't just stop exposing how others were being hurt like that."

"And what did her husband think?" Miroku asked pointedly.

Mrs. Higurashi, to their surprise, let out a light chuckle.

"They used to fight over it," Sōta answered for his mother. "He used to be pretty mean about it and said it was pointless at first, and that she really couldn't expect to fix a lot of things as a teenager." His words, however negative, were very fondly spoken towards his brother in-law; Miroku made a mental note of that. "But he always stuck by her, and it was pretty obvious that it grew on him, in the end. I think he really came to—well, I wouldn't say  _enjoy_ —feel satisfied about the work. I mean, who wouldn't? Busting bad guys and helping others out is bound to feel pretty good."

"He grew up with such a rough life, poor thing." Mrs. Higurashi was also apparently nothing but sympathetic. "In his circumstances, I think seeing justice being served ought to have felt cathartic, even."

The officers had set the notebooks and albums down on the bed briefly to get down as much testimony as they could. "Oh, but you were saying, Higurashi-san, about her continuing the newspaper club even after the warning from the school. From the clippings I'm able to see, these are about local crime like robberies. Not very school related at all," Kai pointed out.

"Well, the first case was school related, in a way," Mrs. Higurashi mused. "A classmate of theirs was worried because his father's business was losing money to some local thugs scaring off customers. When Inuyasha and Kagome got to the bottom of it, it turned out that the ringleader was the son of a rival business owner."

The team shared looks—this was certainly getting somewhere interesting. Perhaps their victim, who had apparently been quite the sleuth, had unfinished business with someone. Someone who kept grudges.

Still, Miroku couldn't quite help his continuing suspicions towards her husband. Her family seemed to like him just fine, but even so…

"We'll be taking this back to the precinct with us to comb through all the evidence. If we have any further questions, we'll be in touch," Takeda said apologetically and bowed at a perfect 45 degree angle from his waist. "Thank you both for your cooperation. We'll be taking all of this back with us to the precinct." He gestured to the piles of notebooks. "While we are very sorry for your daughter, we promise to do everything in our power to find her and return her safely to you."

"Thank you, officer."

The now familiar sense of jealousy flared up inside Miroku.  _He_  was supposed to be the charming one, dammit, and some rich guy with custom-made leather goods was stealing his thunder! Noble demeanour or not, Takeda most certainly did not have the right to go around speaking as though he were the team leader. Miroku thought of some last-ditch ways to reassert himself before they left the shrine.

"Just a moment, Higurashi-san," he mentally cursed himself for sounding a bit too eager. "Can I ask how many people were part of this famous club? Perhaps they can be of some help to shed light on our investigation."

Mrs. Higurashi's brow furrowed, thinking. "Well, besides Kagome and Inuyasha…three others. Two boys and a girl."

"Might we have their names?"

"Yes—though I apologise, it's been a while since we've last seen them. Hōjō-kun was the first to join after Inuyasha and Kagome, though it was fairly obvious he did it because of Kagome…then came Minami-kun and Ayame-chan. Kagome's other friends tried to join at first, to be supportive, but Kagome warned them away from it."

"Would you happen to have their contact information? Phone numbers, email, maybe even social media?"

She bowed her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't recall saving any numbers of theirs, and I'm certainly not the internet type. Maybe Sōta knows…?"

"Sorry," her son grimaced. "I don't follow them online."

"Oh well. I can try to find something that can help us…maybe Kagome's old cell phone is still around here somewhere."

Checking his watch, Miroku signalled the team to start moving out, taking extra care with their newly acquired piles of evidence. The Higurashis offered them more tea and snacks before they left, but the officers declined, citing time. They graciously offered to help them down the long staircase and back out to the street, but again, the team refused, and soon had the books packed snugly into some boxes they had on hand in the trunk of the patrol car.

"Thank you for your help, officers." She bowed to them with a grace that belied her grief, well-hidden as it was. "Please call us soon. We would very much like to keep in touch and see how the case is going so far."

"We are doing everything we can to help, Higurashi-san," Kai said. "Should anything new come up, you are definitely the first people we will contact." She handed the pair a card with the precinct's mascot and phone numbers printed on before she returned the bow and slid into the car's back seat.

After the others had said their goodbyes, Miroku also gave the Higurashis his best impression of Takeda's bow; despite his envious feelings, Miroku felt guilty about not having been on better behaviour in front of such an obviously kind and caring woman. He wanted her to have a high opinion of him. "Rest assured that we will meet again soon, Higurashi-san. There is still much to talk about."

"See you all soon, then. Please be careful on your way back." They exchanged more polite bowing before Miroku took his place in the passenger seat.

"Be careful." Sōta, who'd been rather quiet since coming down from his sister's room, warned. "Sis often bit off more than she could chew. Even if you're all police, the people she reported on never played nice."

Exchanging troubled glances at the boy's words, the team said nothing as they drove away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> Ueno Park is a pleasant part of Tokyo that houses a zoo, the Tokyo National Museum (focusing Japanese art and general Asian art from Pakistan to China), the National Museum of Western Art (one of the few museums outside of France to possess copies of August Rodin's casts of The Thinker and The Gates of Hell), several historic Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples (Ueno Tōshō-gū is dedicated to Tokugawa Ieyasu, though the term refers to many other such places where Ieyasu is enshrined) and other similar locations. Ueno is also some 20 minutes away from Tokyo University, which makes it a very busy spot indeed. However, many homeless people have set up shop, so to speak, in the area since the economy plateaued in the 90s. They do so because it's cleaner and safer than notorious homeless encampments like San'ya. Not to say that San'ya is terrible; it's tame compared to other slum-like areas of the world, but it's still quite different to spend a night of sleeping in a beautiful, well-kept park compared to a rough and cramped inner city neighbourhood.
> 
> I've recommended My Life in Japan's series on Japanese homelessness in the previous chapter, but the University of Pittsburgh and Al-Jazeera also have interesting write-ups on the subject.
> 
> The Higurashi Shrine; because I'm a pedant, it's interesting to note that, while the manga's translation of "Sunset Shrine" is the closest, it's not really the most common usage of the term. "Higurashi" refers most often to a type of cicada. "Shrine of the Clear-Toned Cicada" isn't quite as punchy as "Sunset Shrine," but Higurashi can be used to refer to a sunset. While 蜩 is the most common usage of the word and is a single term, the composite homonym used as Kagome's family name, 日暮, contains the kanji for day/sun (hi) and the kanji for a certain period of time (gure). "Higure/Higurashi" is read as sunset/twilight, when cicadas are most commonly heard. Interestingly enough, "gure" is also present as a kanji is several other words, and the kun and on readings of those words refer to living frugally, the end of a year, and depressing phrases such as "to be overtaken in darkness" and "to spend one's days in tears and sorrow." 
> 
>  
> 
> The laundry list of terms about the shrine refers to features of Shinto shrines: a temizuya is a little pavilion for washing your hands and mouth before entering the shrine complex, similar to the Muslim custom of washing your feet before entering a mosque; a haiden is a worship hall or oratory; the heiden is used for rituals and to store offerings; the honden is connected to the haiden via the heiden and is the main hall that houses the kami of the shrine and is generally closed to the public; the shamusho is the office supervising the shrine; chigi are forked finials on the roofs of shrines and are commonly paired with billets called katsuogi, and are features exclusive to Shinto structures; massha are mini shrines "entrusted" to proper shrines due to a shared connection to the shrine kami.
> 
> And finally, the tree. Contrary to popular thought, the Goshiboku's name…isn't "Goshinboku". It's a title. Shinboku (神木) means "sacred tree," and is the term given to trees that are considered sacred. Go in this caseis a suffix that means "honourable," and it's attached to honourifics and titles to denote great respect. The tree's official title is "most honourable sacred tree." Shinboku are part of a category in Shintoism called yorishiro: sacred objects with the ability to attract kami. Emphasising the animist nature of Shintoism, yorishiro are often living things, and their purpose is to attract kami and other spirits into a physical space so that humans can then worship them. A yorishiro that becomes inhabited is then turned into a shintai, becoming divine itself rather than just a vessel for something divine. Yorishiro are said to harken back to the earliest days of Shinto, when the earliest temples were often groves of trees, and then had temples built around them or even just one tree or to store an item said to be a yorishiro. To show others that a tree is sacred, shimenawa-rope made of rice paper or hemp-is wrapped around it.
> 
> Shinboku can also be read to mean the pillars that support festival bonfires, or, as 親睦, "friendship."
> 
> To wrap things up, just a few little notes on Shima's stuff: the stationary I described could be bought at the Tokyo Skytree, which has its own Pokémon center, often with Rayquaza themed merch to reflect the tower's status as a popular lookout point. The pen I had in mind for her is a 2016 exclusive that could only be bought on July of that year to celebrate the grand opening of the Skytree Pokémon Center and has Rayquaza featured with poncho Pikachu. The mechanical pencil I had in mind is a blue-green Pikachu version sold by the Kurutoga company as part of a special 2015 campaign. Why all this? Because I decided to make Shima an otaku.
> 
> Until next time ;)


	7. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I couldn't have done this without the wonderful sassybratt9791! I have to admit I always feel like a dunce after she does the beta since her command over the English language is far superior to mine!
> 
> And with that, we're back to Kagome…

 

 

 

She'd been yanked out of the van the moment she felt it stop, immediately blindfolded with a cloth that smelled musty and gross, and frogmarched to God knows where. All Kagome knew was that the temperature changed from sunny warmth to an industrial cold as she was taken away. The buzzing of fluorescent lighting meant she was inside a building, but what good did that do? Tokyo was an enormous city with thousands of buildings. She could be anywhere.

"Stay here," rough-voice snarled and shoved her down onto an uncomfortably rickety chair. Kagome heard his retreating footsteps echo metallically before a door slammed shut.

She stayed alone, in silence, for what seemed like hours. She was incredibly tempted to take the blindfold off—she would have, if it weren't for rough-voice returning again. She could tell it was him by his angry steps. To her horror, he brought rope with him and tied her tightly to the chair and made sure to bind her hands too.

"You try anything funny," his low hiss tickled her ear, "and I'll make sure you regret it."

He left again with another slam of the door.

Kagome tried all sorts of things to keep herself mentally occupied: logic puzzles—which she was never good at, but she had memorised a few from the quiz section of the newspaper that her grandpa liked—, replaying scenes from movies and tv shows she had seen in her head, going over her shopping list for the week. But no matter how hard she tried, she quickly succumbed to her panic.

What exactly happened back at the apartment? Why would stopping an attempted break-in meant that she had gotten herself kidnapped? Where was Inuyasha? Was he alright? What about her mother, and her brother, and her grandpa?

What would happen to her now?

Kagome stewed in her thoughts for a long, long time. Eventually she got so tired of her mind running around in circles that she fell asleep in the chair.

She woke to an intense burning in her bladder.  _Oh, great._  First she got kidnapped, then she vomited in her kidnappers' getaway vehicle, then they blindfolded her and tied her up so tightly that she could hardly move, and now, she needed to pee.  _Fantastic._

First, Kagome tried freeing her hands, but only succeeded in giving herself rope burns so painful that her skin felt raw and achy long after she stopped. Wriggling around in her seat didn't do anything either; she was strapped in pretty tightly. Rough-voice, whoever he was, seemed to know his way around tying knots. Just her luck.

Maybe that trick in the movies where the hero threw himself onto the chair he was tied to would work? The metal one she was trapped in certainly felt fragile enough…and she was dying to get that disgusting blindfold off and open her eyes.

But first, she had to stand up.

 _You can do this, Kagome._  She planted her feet firmly on the floor and braced herself.  _Come on girl. Deep breaths._

She heaved herself up with a loud grunt, only to lose her balance and fall back in the chair. Her back hurt from being slammed into its metal frame.

_Okay. No big deal. So you didn't get it the first time. Let's try this again._

Kagome spread her legs out further to better redistribute her weight and prevent another painful fall. Inhaling deeply, she tightened the muscles in her core and thighs, shot up, and threw her back, chair and all, forward. Though she staggered around drunkenly and her head suddenly swam, Kagome was able to keep it together long enough to stay standing. She cheered out loud.

Now to throw the chair against the wall—if she could find one, that is. From the way the sound in the room echoed when rough-voice talked, it was either a big room, a room with bare concrete and little furnishings to absorb sound…or both. The last thought was deeply disturbing. She didn't want to waste the time she could be using to engineer an escape plan by stupidly feeling her way around a place she couldn't see.

Unfortunately for her, it was her only option at the moment.

 _Steady there,_  Kagome tried to motivate herself.  _Nice and slow does the trick._  She began feeling her way around the room with her bare feet; it certainly felt like concrete, but the kind of cold concrete that you'd find in underground storage areas or in those behind-the-scenes rooms restricted to the general public, like in hotels, supermarkets, and department stores. Which still didn't tell her a whole lot about where she might be.

After ages of blindly toeing her way around, Kagome stubbed her pinky toe on the seam between a wall and the floor.  _Finally!_  She rested her tired, aching back against it, grateful for the respite. Using her head (literally), she didn't feel any tubing or cables or wiring boxes of any kind that could hinder her plan.

_Here goes nothing!_

Kagome threw her right side as hard as she could into the wall. It achieved nothing but winding her and making her arm and thigh hurt from the impact. She tried again five more times with increasing might, until the pain in her side grew too great to ignore and she had to force herself to stop. Gulping in deep breaths, Kagome cursed, and held back frustrated tears.

Maybe she just needed more power behind her movements. Maybe she really just had to throw herself into the wall, and hope that the chair would shatter apart like they did in the movies. Kagome knew that was fool's logic, desperate logic, but it was the best she had at the moment. And anything was better than nothing.

She carefully padded backwards, hoping that she put a reasonable amount of distance between herself and the wall. She sucked in deep, bracing breaths, and counted down from ten. Steeling herself, she took off running and prayed that the impact wouldn't be as painful as it seemed like.

Except that she was totally wrong and all her little stunt achieved was managing to bounce herself off the wall and onto the floor with her legs in the air and it hurt so badly that all the air was knocked out of her and her mind went blank from the pain. How could she have been so stupid for even entertaining an idea she saw in a movie? Now she was not only blind from the thecloth, but blind in pain, with her entire body weight and the chair's pressing down onto her arms.

And to top things off, she lost control of her bladder.

Kagome cried herself to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She woke to find that she'd managed to roll onto her side in her sleep. Her arms felt numb, but at least she wasn't lying on them anymore, and the numbness helped to mask the aching from the rope burns on her wrists. Only now her throat was burning instead because of how thirsty she was.

Kagome spent an eternity lying there on the floor, flitting between varying degrees of consciousness. She heard someone open the door and curse her out—or was her mind just making things up?—and then leave. With nothing to do except stay still and swim in her own thoughts, time lost meaning to her, and her physical body seemed to float in space. The cold flooring wasn't doing her any favours and only numbed her further.

Kagome fell asleep again.

She was half-conscious when someone pulled her up and repositioned her chair back to its previous position, and her head had a hard time being readjusted itself. The person, whoever they were, scoffed in disgust at the smell of her dried urine, and left just as quickly as they came. Kagome panicked at the thought of being alone again. Even though they were her kidnappers, she desperately missed human contact.

She missed Inuyasha.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm normally not one for angst, so it sounds suuuuper bad for me to admit that I'm enjoying these awful scenes of her captivity…only time will reveal who the people who grabbed her out of her own home are, and why they're keeping her locked up…

**Author's Note:**

> And here comes the first cliffhanger, lol. I have to admit that I have a soft spot for cliffhangers in mysteries; something about the nature of the genre really makes them feel more urgent to me than in non crime/mystery stories.
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> Hata IS being unreasonably rude to Taniguchi, but that's part of his character: he's old, crotchety, and dislikes people making his job harder. By contrast, Sango is being too hard on Miroku, because "Sango-san" isn't being that rude since he's still using the honorific. Her insisting on Tachibana-san is her drawing a very clear, though ultimately unnecessary, line between them.
> 
> A genkan is an entrance in Japanese homes that marks the transition between outside and your personal space. it has a lower floor level than the rest of the home, and it's where (dirty) shoes worn outside are exchanged for indoor slippers or just going about barefoot/in socks.
> 
> Sassybratt made this remark in the editing stage about why having to distinguish between the bathroom and washroom, but we ultimately decided to have the explanation for it here in the author's notes: Japanese homes, even ostensibly "Western styled" ones, do not have their tub/shower in the same room as the toilet and sink. This is because the toilet is an unclean thing, and to have it in the same area as the place where you go to clean yourself is a no-no. The tub for relaxing in after washing off gets a whole room to itself, while the sink and toilet are placed in another one altogether, sometimes even with a partition to separate the sink from the toilet. This distinction stems from a culture that is very fastidious about cleanliness and is reinforced by Shinto and Buddhist taboos and permissions on what is clean and what is not; it's a sociocultural concept that will be revisited later.
> 
> Other than that, that's all for this chapter. I hope that readers enjoy this, and I look forward to chapter two!


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